Febuwhump 2020
by EmilyF.6
Summary: A series of one-shots based on the Febuwump 2020 prompts. (I removed bio-dad Tony one-shots and made them their own story, thus the fewer chapters.)
1. Bloodstains

**Thank you so much to everyone who has read and reviewed! I appreciate all of you so much! I hope you enjoy today's chapter! **

_Bloodstains_

"Peter!"

"Peter? Kid!"

"Peter!"

The repetitive sound brought Peter to, although he wasn't sure what the word meant, or what was happening...or where he was, for that matter. He was cold. That much was clear by the way his body shook. But he wasn't shaking much. All around him was red snow, and he wondered why. What would make snow turn red? Blinking and staring up at the trees that surrounded him, he focused on the sound of his own breathing.

A string of curses filled the air, and then another voice screamed, the same word. The same sound. Why? Why was someone yelling? All he wanted to sleep. He was shivering and cold, but the area where he lay was almost warm. If he closed his eyes, he thought, he could sleep and then the could wouldn't matter. He just wanted to sleep! The world was fuzzy around him, and the trees stood out in sharp contrast to the pale blue sky as he stared up at them.

Why was he outside?

It didn't matter, he decided. Outside was fine as long as he could sleep there.

"Peter! Kid? Shit! Stark is going to fucking kill us!"

"It's not our fault the plane..oh shit…".

Then there was blessed silence until footsteps came closer, and Peter shut his eyes, not wanting any more input. He just wanted to sleep. And he was starting to sleep again...starting to drift off when a hand grabbed his shoulder and he screamed from the pain. At least, he thought he screamed. Was he...awake? He was lying on his back, shivering less and less from the cold, and a cold hand pressed against his cheek.

"Peter! Kid! Come on, Spidey!" Someone urged, but he had no idea what that meant or who Spidey was or who Peter was he just wanted to sleep!

He'd moved his head before. He'd seen the red snow surrounding him. Why was the snow red? But moving his head again didn't feel like an option. There was a steady pounding, and the world seemed to swirl around him.

"Peter, come on! Open your eyes! Shit! Bucky, feel for a pulse. Stark is going to kill us!"

"Shut up! I can't feel for a pulse with you screaming at me!"

"Hm?" Peter muttered, and the two went silent for a long minute. He thought it had worked, and started to drift off again when someone tapped his face.

"Peter. Kid. It's Bucky. Open your eyes."

Peter. His name was Peter. Spidey. Spiderman. And Bucky. He knew Bucky. Bucky and Sam. A plane and a mission. The thoughts hit him so suddenly that he gasped, eyes flying open, but Bucky's hands were steady on his shoulders, and the man shook his head. Bucky's face was red, Peter realized. Or...or there was red on it. Red dripped down his cheek.

"Stay still, Peter. Don't move. Just...hold tight, okay?"

"I...Bucky...I'm...cold...what happened…"

The man's face was serious and firm and Peter tried to remember the last thing that had happened...what could have led to this? But it was a blank. A complete blank. Blackness. He remembered a plane. They'd been on a plane. But why? Why had they been on a plane? A mission. But..what about the mission? Bucky was rarely so serious these days. Neither was Sam. The two taunted each other and joked around and played pranks, and Peter had been going with them...somewhere. Bucky had asked him to...had invited him along. And Peter had been excited.

"Sam?" Bucky demanded, glancing up at someone Peter couldn't see.

"I need a medkit. Now."

"We're in the middle of nowhere!" Bucky snapped.

"Bucky?" Peter asked. Now that sleep was out of the question, he felt his heart racing, his breath coming faster. He tried to bring a hand up to his chest but his shoulder burned and he let out a gasping sob, dropping his hand back down. "Bucky, I can't…" He started, mouth open as he panted.

"Hang on, Pete. Just keep breathing."

"We have to call for help. Now." That was Sam's voice. He and Sam had played frisbee with the shield earlier. Or...yesterday? Mr. Stark had come outside and laughed when he'd seen them. Then Bucky had joined in.

Peter groaned in pain when someone moved his leg. The numbness was fading, pain taking its place. His head throbbed, making linear thought impossible. "What...what's wrong?" He asked, tugging on Bucky's sleeve with the hand he was able to move. They had a mission. They had to...to do something.

"Don't worry about it, Peter. Just keep breathing, kid." Sam urged, but Peter had to know.

When he managed to force his head to lift so he could look at Sam, and at his legs, he couldn't help the gasp. There was a piece of...of metal. In his thigh. And below that his leg was bent. But not bent like his leg normally was. It was...wrong.

"Pete. Don't...kid, it's...lay down." Sam urged, and Bucky pushed him back onto the ground and into the snow with a gentle hand on his chest, avoiding the shoulder that hurt so badly.

"Mr. Stark...where...where's Mr. Stark?" Peter asked, too terrified to be ashamed when his voice cracked and his eyes filled with tears. Bucky kept a firm hand on his chest, moving into his line of sight, face a forced mask of calm.

"Kid, we're calling for help, okay? You're going to be okay."

"It hurts. I'm...I'm cold…"

"I know." Bucky ripped his jacket off and draped it over Peter's torso, his flesh and blood hand touching his forehead. "Sam?"

The man was muttering to himself, speaking under his breath, but Peter heard every word. "I have to...it's going to get infected if I don't…and I need to reset his leg."

"No…" Peter whimpered, shaking his head and grabbing at Bucky again with his working hand. He didn't want anyone touching his leg! "Please...don't...it hurts!"

"I know, kid, but...shit, Peter, I have to. Your leg is going to heal around it and it could get infected and I have to set your leg."

"No...no, don't!" Peter begged, trying to jerk away, but he couldn't make his leg move.

Sam was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was weak. Pained. "Bucky, you have to hold him."

The super-soldier gave him a torn look, then he bit his lip and placed one hand on Peter's good shoulder and another on his chest. "It's okay, Peter. It's going to be fast."

"Bucky…" Peter choked out, but the man shook his head.

"I'm sorry, kid. You're going to be okay. He just has to fix your leg, then we'll get some help."

He shook his head, trying to bring up his good hand, but Bucky held him still. "Bucky...don't...please…"

"I'm so sorry, Pete. Just hang on. It's…" His gentle reassurance was cut off by the guttural scream that ripped out of Peter's throat, head slamming into the ground hard enough that he saw stars. "I'm sorry. Peter, kiddo, I'm...shit, I'm so sorry. Just...hold on, buddy. Please...shit, just breathe for me, kid. Sam!"

Peter couldn't think around the pain. Couldn't breathe around it. It was like fireworks going off behind his eyes, but in the worst way, and his whole body was pain as Sam braced his leg and began wrapping something around it. All he knew was the pain and the firm press of Bucky's hands on his shoulders. Pressing him firmly into the ground. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't sit up. Couldn't move his arms or do anything but scream and beg for it to stop.

"I'm sorry. Kid, I'm so sorry. It's okay. You're okay."

He wasn't okay! It hurt it hurt it hurt!

And then something was pulled out of his thigh and the world was black.

When Peter opened his eyes again, he was almost warm. Someone was holding them in their lap, holding him close and rubbing a hand over his back. His head was resting against someone's shoulder and someone was talking.

"Sam, he's too cold."

"I'm trying!"

"Well try harder?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to try harder! This stupid phone doesn't have a signal!"

Peter blinked against the man's shoulder, realizing that Bucky was the one holding him. "Mr. Stark? Is...is Mr. Stark...is he here?" He slurred, realizing at the last moment that his words didn't sound right. "Bucky?"

"Yeah, kid. It's me. Tony isn't here right now. But he's coming, okay? You're going to be okay."

"Oh...okay." He murmured, letting his head drop back against Bucky's shoulder, and the man rubbed his back.

"Try to stay awake, Pete. Please, kid." Bucky shook him a little, and his arm felt strange and tight and his leg hurt and everything hurt! "Peter?"

"Hur's...Bucky…"

"I know, kid. I know. Just...stick with us, okay? Sam's calling for help."

"Help?"

"Yeah, kid. We need some help."

"Wha' 'bout the...mission…?"

"Don't worry about that right now? It's going to be fine." Bucky wrapped his arms more tightly around him, rubbing a hand over his back.

"My arm hurts." Peter slurred, and Bucky squeezed him a little tighter, and he didn't know if Bucky was trying to comfort him or if he was trying to keep him warm. There was still red snow.

"I know. You dislocated your shoulder in the crash. But you're okay. Just try and…"

Peter closed his eyes again as Bucky finished that sentence and let himself sleep, hoping that the next time he woke up, everything would be okay.

It wasn't. The next time he woke he was laying on the ground, and someone was pressing hard on his thigh and it hurt but he couldn't even scream anymore. All he knew was that it hurt and tears were running down his face and he was so cold. But the cold and the pain were fading and he stared up at the gray blue sky until it all faded away, the cold and the pain and the red snow. People were talking to him but it didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was sleep.

"Peter!" Someone screamed, shaking his shoulder and sitting him up. "Kid! Fucky, Bucky we have to…"

Peter wanted to shush them. He let his head drop forward, landing hard against Sam's shoulder. Sam. Sam was wrapping his arms around him, rubbing his hands vigorously up and down Peter's arms.

"Peter! Look at me, kid. Come on!" Sam urged, and Peter tried to force his eyes open and to meet Sam's gaze. It sort of worked. "You're going to be okay. We're going to get you some help."

"M'cold."

"Yeah, that's because it's fucking freezing out here." He grumbled, pulling Peter close one more, and something cold was wrapped around him.

"I can't get a signal. Your phone is crushed, and mine isn't working. I can't find the kid's." Bucky muttered, and Peter was only vaguely aware of what any of that meant. "We can't keep him warm...he's still bleeding."

"So what the hell are we supposed to do?" Sam snapped.

"We need to start walking. Try to get somewhere with a signal. He's not going to last much longer without help."

The next thing Peter knew, he was moving...being hoisted up and carried as someone walked….and the walking...it was endless. Every step sent a jolt of stabbing pain up and down his leg and the cold wind was biting and agonizing. Soon, though, he wasn't so cold anymore. Soon, he was numb to it all, head limp on Bucky's shoulder. There was something wrapped around him, and maybe it was working. Maybe that's why he wasn't so cold.

It was Mr. Stark's voice that woke him next. "Peter!"

"Hm?"

"There you go, Spiderling! Hey, it's me, buddy. Come on!"

Peter wasn't being carried anymore. He was...laying on something firm. People were talking. Shouting. Bur Mr. Stark was there, right across from him, holding Peter's hand firmly in his. "Mr. Stark?" He tried to move his other hand but his arm was strapped to his chest. Hadn't he been with Sam and Bucky? "Where's Sam? Bucky? Can't...can't move..."

"They're here too. We're in the Quinjet. We've got your leg stitched up and you're in a cast. Your arm's in a sling. That's why you can't move."

"But...what happened?"

"You were in a plane crash. Well, we think someone shot down your plane. You got shish-kabobed, bud."

"Huh?"

Mr. Stark gave him a small, sad smile, reaching out and patting his cheek. "A piece of metal from the plane went through your thigh, and your leg was broken in two plaes. You almost bled out, Pete. Well, it was a race between bleeding out and freezing to death. But you're okay. Sam and Bucky took care of you."

"Are they okay?"

"Yeah. Sam sprained his ankle and got a pretty bad cut, and I think Bucky got a concussion like you, but you were the worst off."

"Oh…" Peter felt the drugs he must have been on starting to kick in, and his eyes drooped. "Can...can you thank them? Bucky...and Sam...they…" He blinked at Mr. Stark, the thought trailing off, and the man rubbed a thumb over his cheek.

"I'll tell them, buddy. And you can tell them yourself when you wake up."

"Mkay."

_**Thank you for reading! **_


	2. Intruder

**Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews! I appreciate all of you so much!**

_Intruder_

"Can we watch this one?"

Peter grinned a little at the popcorn he was popping, looking into the little window of the microwave. May had always told him to stand back, that the radiation would slowly kill him, despite his many explanations that the amount of radiation used in a modern microwave couldn't kill him. She'd insisted anyway, and to this day it was his habit to stay at least a step away.

"Which one?" He called back.

"It has a scary lady on the front."

"Nope. How about something Disney?"

"It might be Disney, you don't know."

Peter snorted, opening the microwave when the popcorn stopped popping and puling out the bag. "Pick a cartoon or we're watching Star Wars again."

Morgan groaned and Peter poured the popcorn into the bowl.

Peter had agreed to babysit for the night...had been happy to have Morgan over so that Pepper and Mr. Stark could have a night off. May was working a double shift, so it was just Peter and May and all the movies and popcorn they could want. For dinner, they'd ordered a pizza, and now the little monsters wanted popcorn. It was close to seven, so Peter figured a movie would put her to sleep.

Mr. Stark had been texting him throughout the night, and Peter had assured the man over and over that they were fine, that everything was fine, and that he would definitely get Morgan to bed on time. He just hoped that was true. Carrying the bowl back into the living room, he plopped down on the sofa beside Morgan and handed her the bowl, plucking the remote out of her hand and making her giggle.

"How about...Moana?"

"We've seen it a billion, zillion times!"

"Wow...a billion zillion. Guess not, then. Frozen II?"

"We've seen that one a zillion zillion times." There was a hint of a smile on her face, and he nodded in mock seriousness.

"Right, of course. Um….how about…" He drew out the last word, humming and scrolling through the titles on the TV. "Ummmmmmmmmmm…"

"Peter!"

"How about the Emperor's New Groove?"

"No. That one's so old!"

"Old!" Peter cried, putting a scandalized hand to his chest. "I went and saw that in the theater!"

"That's because you're old too." She giggled, and he gave her arm a gentle pinch.

"How dare you. Just for that, we're watching James and the Giant Peach."

"No! That one's too scary!"

"Fine!" He gave an exaggerated groan and dropped his head against the back of the sofa. "Maybe we should just go to sleep."

"No! I'm not sleepy!"

"But I am." He let himself fall over sideways, head landing gently against hers, and she squealed in laughter and tried to push him off.

"Petey, you're crushing me! You weigh a thousand pounds!"

"A thousand!"

"I'm going to die!"

He laughed, sitting up and ruffling her hair, then letting her cuddle up to him, her head resting on his chest just like his had rested on her father's so many times. "How about Coco?"

"Oh yeah! I like that one!"

An hour and a half into the movie, Morgan was starting to nod off. He could hear it in her heartbeat, how it was slowing down, and her breathing. Her legs were curled up beside her, and her head rested in his lap, his hand running through her hair. His phone was silent on the coffee table in front of them, and he thought about texting a picture of her to Mr. Stark.

And then his senses went off.

Peter sat up straight, staring at the TV screen for a moment, then down at his phone. Something was wrong. Or...or something was going to be wrong. Peter closed his eyes, trying to focus, but all he could hear were the normal things in his apartment. Morgan breathing. The TV. His neighbors talking. Their TV's.

Footsteps on the stairs.

Peter grabbed Morgan, picking her up and ignoring her jerk of surprise. "Shhhh." He urged, carrying her into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

"Peter…"

"Quiet!" He sat her down on his bed, racing back to his bedroom door and locking it just as pounding footsteps reached his floor. "It's okay. I'm sorry. Just...hold on."

He opened his laptop, cursing himself for leaving his phone on the couch as he typed in his password. "Karen?"

"Yes, Peter?" His AI installed in his laptop asked.

"I need you to text Mr. Stark. 911. Emergency. I need help. Now!"

"The message has been sent. Peter, might I suggest…"

Peter snapped the laptop shut and turned to Morgan who watched him with eyes wide in horror.

And then there were gunshots in the hall.

"It's okay. Hey, look at me." He whispered, putting his hands on her shoulders. "We're going out the fire escape, okay?" Peter grabbed his backpack, which had his suit in it, dropped his laptop inside, then threw it over his shoulder and picked Morgan up. The girl hid her face in Peter's shoulder, her whole body shaking, and he bit back a curse when his front door was kicked in"

Peter yanked his window open, placing Morgan on the fire escape in her pajamas and bare feet. "Go. I'm right behind you. Be careful." He hissed, and the little girl nodded, tears running down her cheeks. He gave her the best smile he could manage, then started to climb out the window himself. He was halfway out when there was a bang outside his bedroom door, and he almost didn't feel it...almost didn't feel the burning pain in his leg...but that didn't matter. He had to get Morgan to safety.

He jumped the rest of the way out of the window, flinching when his leg nearly gave, but he had to get Morgan somewhere safe! She was looking up at him, but he shook his head. "Go!" He cried, using the railing to pull himself upright and take some of the pressure off his right leg. Peter was bleeding. He could feel it...could feel his leg threaten to give with every step, but it didn't matter! Morgan mattered and getting out of that apartment mattered.

The sound of the Iron Legion filled the air, and Peter stumbled after Morgan as the two raced down the fire escape. The Iron Legion was close, but they still weren't safe. Once they reached the ground, Peter gasped, leg finally giving altogether and sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Petey!" Morgan cried, dropping to her knees beside him and touching his arm, and Peter forced a smile.

"I'm okay. I'm fine." He promised her, pushing himself up with his hands and trying to sit up, but his leg refused to take his weight. "Hang on." He grit his teeth together, dropping his head back and gasping for air.

"Peter?"

"Are you okay?" He asked, forcing his eyes open so that he could look her over. "Morgan? Are you hurt anywhere?"

The little girl shook her head and he forced a smile.

"Good. Okay. So we need to, uh...we need to get away from the apartment." He grunted, and she held out a hand as if to help him up. Giving her a strained smile, Peter placed his hand against the wall, sticking it firmly there and pulling himself up that way. "Okay. Let's go. We're going to…" Peter made it about four steps before the pain in his leg was unbearable and it buckled under him once more.

"Peter!" She cried, reaching out for him.

This time, he couldn't even sit up. He crumbled, shoulder hitting the ground hard, and he groaned. "I'm okay." He gasped out, trying again to sit up.

"No you're not!" She sobbed, grabbing his arm and shaking him. "You have to get up! We have to get Daddy!"

"I know. I know...um…" Peter bit back his own sob, a hand pressed to his mouth. "Just...hold on." Grabbing the wall again to pull himself into a sitting position, he tried to get a look at his leg. The bullet was still in his leg...in his thigh. It was bleeding a lot. It hurt. But that was all he could tell. No way he could dig it out himself.

Peter pulled himself to his feet once more, stumbling forward and refusing to lean on little Morgan. "Come on. We have to find help."

Morgan nodded, reaching out a hand, and he took it, squeezing gently and doing his best to stumble forward, out of the alley and onto the sidewalk. He was getting tired...too much blood, he realized. He was losing so much blood. But he had to stay awake. He had to get Morgan somewhere safe.

"Excuse me...son, are you okay?"

Peter's vision was hazy, but the man asking him that looked like a police officer.

"Someone shot my brother!"

His leg buckled for what felt like the billionth time that night, and Peter would have hit the ground again except for the man that caught him by his shoulders. "Son? Miss, what's your name?"

"I'm Morgan Stark and someone shot Peter!"

"Morgan...Stark? Are you Tony Stark's…" Peter was almost certain that he knew where that sentence was going, but the world had gone fuzzy and there was static playing on a TV somewhere nearby...or maybe it was in his head. "Son? Peter?"

There was more talking. A walkie talkie and yelling and he reached out for Morgan except his arms didn't work.

"Morgan? Morgan, where...where's Morgan?"

"Peter, stay with me."

"He's lost a lot of blood!'

"Peter!" That last voice he knew, and he struggled toward it...but he couldn't even manage to open his eyes. How could he get to Morgan if he couldn't even open his eyes?

Then there were only flashes. Blurred memories of events he didn't understand. Someone lifting him and laying him down. Pain in his leg that made him scream. A sired. His own voice shouting for Morgan and voices telling him that she was fine. Beeping and the frantic voices of people he didn't know as he screamed at the sensation of something in his leg. The cool rush of pain relief, then more pain. It wasn't enough! It still hurt and he still didn't know where Morgan was!

And then just a steady beeping, a hand wrapped around his. A hand so familiar that he'd know it anywhere. He squeezed a little, unable to open his eyes just yet, but wanting Mr. Stark to know he was trying.

"Hey, buddy. You with me yet?"

"Mhm." Then he remembered the most important thing. "Mor…"

"Your sister is fine. Pepper came by to pick her up a few hours ago. She's just worried about you." A hand brushed his hair back and rested on his cheek, and Peter fought to open his eyes. To see that for himself, even though she wasn't there. He had to tell Mr. Stark how sorry he was! But then the man was talking again. "They found out who you were...I think it was the Vulture that sent them. They had orders to kill you and anyone they found in the apartment. May's at the compound with the others, and I've got the Iron Legion standing guard here."

"Here?" Peter asked, still trying to open his eyes.

"We're in a hospital. A police officer found you and called an ambulance. As soon as you're feeling a little better, I'll get you to the compound."

"Oh…" Peter muttered. "Vulture still...mad at me?"

Mr. Stark snorted. "The guy sure can hold a grudge, huh?" He ran a hand through Peter's hair once more, and Peter finally got his eyes to cooperate. The man was sitting at his side in a starkly white room that made Peter's eyes hurt. "There you are." He smiled, tapping a hand against Peter's cheek.

"I'm sorry...put Morgan in danger…"

"You got Morgan out of danger, buddy."

"My fault..I'm sorry."

"Nope. Not your fault." Mr. Stark shook his head, dropping his hand to Peter's shoulder. "You saved her." The man stood, then sat down on Peter's bed, abandoning his chair to get closer.

Peter sat up a little, letting Mr. Stark put an arm under him and pull him the rest of the way, the two of them sitting against the bedframe with Peter's head on Mr. Stark's chest. He took a deep breath, letting his eyes close once more, and feeling the man press a kiss to the top of his head. "You're not mad?" He asked, needing to be absolutely sure.

"No, buddy. I'm not mad at you. Both of my kids are safe. That's all I could ask for."


	3. Fire

Fire

Peter's feet dangled from his stool, and he felt his eyes glaze over as he stared into space. In front of him were an array of beakers and test tubes, and the tiny flame over the bunsen burner flickered. His worksheet sat on the table between him and Ned. They'd finished ages ago, and he was just waiting for the other in the class to catch up so that they could get started on the actual experiment. Since he'd started going to Mr. Stark's almost weekly, he no longer needed to make web fluid at school, so he tried to actually pay attention in class.

Today, it wasn't really working for him.

He and May had fought that morning. It hadn't been their worst fight. Not by a long shot. Just a disagreement about his curfew...and the fact that he couldn't seem to keep it. And so he was grounded. For a week. He'd tried explaining that Spiderman couldn't be grounded. That people needed him. That what he did was important. May had been less than impressed and had pointed to the front door, ordering him to school and telling him that he was to come home straight after.

Peter was still debating that. It would be worse to go out on patrol tonight...she would tell Mr. Stark and there was really no reason to bring him into this. But on the other hand, if he didn't go out and patrol, people might die. And then that would be on him. So what was more important, obeying his aunt or saving people? It was something that had been eating at him all morning, and by the third hour of school, which so far had been full of physics problems and chemistry, his brain felt fried. It didn't help that he hadn't gone to bed until 3am...thus the curfew argument.

Their teacher said something about adding the chemicals, and really, that's when Peter's spider sense should have gone off. It had been an honest mistake on the teacher's part. Somehow the chemicals had been mislabeled. The teacher had ordered the right thing...he'd done everything right. There were ten stations, with two kids at each, all ready to pour the wrong chemical into the beaker, and Peter's spider sense should have warned him that something was wrong. Maybe it didn't work as well when he was exhausted. Or maybe he was too distracted by his fight with May although, later when he'd think on it, that was even less likely. He was distracted on patrols all the time.

The explosions were deafening. That's all Peter knew. One second, the classroom had been full of kids pouring beakers of fluid into the container as per their teacher's instruction, the next, there was only fire.

His ears were ringing. Peter blinked at the ceiling, mouth open as his body gasped for air that his brain had forgotten he needed. There was fire...the table was on fire. And he was on the floor. That was all he was able to take in as his chest heaved. Smoke...the whole room was smoke and darkness and there was ringing in his ears...and an alarm? There was an alarm. How long had he been out? His head was pounding and his vision went in and out, distracting him for a minute. Reaching up, he grabbed the safety goggles over his eyes, unsure if those were the reason his eyes were blurry, but immediately regretted it when smoke filled his eyes and made them water even more.

Peter's watch gave a short buzz on his wrist, but he couldn't figure out why. Instead, he tried to sit up, only to groan at the feeling of movement. Suddenly there was a strange turning in his stomach, and Peter instinctively rolled over despite the pain, heaving until his breakfast came up in a disgusting mass that splattered on the floor beside him. He tried to lower himself back onto the floor, but his movements were uncoordinated and he ended up crashing onto his back, head banging into the tile again and making him see stars.

Fire. There was fire.

Ned.

Peter couldn't believe it had taken so long for him to remember his friend as he turned his head frantically to the other side and tried to ignore the second wave of nausea. It didn't matter. He had to find Ned! Forgetting about the safety goggles, he tried to search the room for his friend. "Ned?" He called, but his voice came out as more of a croak that he could barely over the ringing and the blare of an alarm. But he had to get Ned. And his classmates! Were they all still in the room? It was full of smoke and fire that licked at the ceiling and the walls, but he couldn't worry about that yet. He had to get Ned first!

Peter grabbed the floor with a hand that he struggled to make stick, then tried to drag himself forward only to turn his head and vomit again, stars appearing in his vision once more. "Ned?" He called, patting the ground. He couldn't be far. He'd been right beside Peter! "Ned?"

His hand finally met something soft, and he pulled himself closer, moving his hand around until he realized he was touching his friend's arm, then followed it up to pat his cheek. The skin there felt strange and hot, and Peter pulled his hand away, trying to look through watery eyes and a room full of smoke to no avail. "Ned!" He tried again, but his voice cut off in a series of coughs so painful that they left him flat on the floor, tears pooling in his eyes and he clutched his chest.

There were windows to their right. He knew that. They had been sitting right beside the windows! So, forcing his body to cooperate, he slipped an arm under his friend and dragged both of their bodies over to the place where he knew the windows had been. From the ceiling, he realized, water was falling, and he wondered why. Was it raining? It hadn't been raining. His head gave a terrible throb, and Peter had to close his eyes, resting his forehead on Ned's shoulder. His friend hadn't moved. Hadn't even flinched. But Peter had to get him out! And then he had to get the others!

Doing his best to hold his breath and try not to breathe in the smoke, he drug the two of them to the window, then grabbed the wall, pulling his limp, useless body upright. He thought he heard a fire truck...or maybe that was just that alarm that might have been inside or outside of his head. Peter yanked himself up, getting his legs underneath him, then brought back a fist and punched the window. As soon as he did, the glass shattered, some of it embedding itself into his hand, but he didn't care. He had to get the glass out of the way so he could get Ned out.

There were a whole row of windows, one stacked on top of the other all the way across the wall, and he managed to break enough and get enough of the glass out of the way that there would be enough room for both him and Ned. All around him, smoke rushed out of the new opening and fire still smoldered on the tables. He couldn't see anyone else through the smoke...his eyes watered and his lungs ached, but Peter tried to focus on Ned.

Bending over, he started to grab his friend, but then he was coughing so hard that he had to grab the wall, and when he looked down at the hand he'd used to cover his mouth, he blanched. His palm was covered in blood. Was that from the glass? Or...or from his mouth? He shook that thought off, trying again to grab his friend. His whole head throbbed, vision threatening to black out, but he this time he managed to get his hands under his friend's shoulder, pulling him up and then, using every ounce of strength, he picked Ned up and stumbled forward the step it took to get to the window. He'd never been so thankful to have a class on the first floor.

It wasn't gentle, but throwing his friend out the window was his only real option, and he peered down to watch his friend roll over on the ground, arms limp, head resting on the grass. Was he breathing? Peter couldn't tell. He needed to crawl out the window...needed to check on his friend. But...but his knees were buckling and he hit the floor before he could do any more climbing, head knocking against the wall once more.

His watch buzzed again, but he couldn't even lift his arm to look at it.

And then strong arms were grabbing him by the armpits and pulling him up, a hand cradling his head and then easing him to the ground beside Ned. Peter coughed again, not sure how he'd even gotten outside, and felt liquid run down his chin and nearly choke him. "Easy...easy, son." Someone urged, turning him to his side so that the liquid could drain out of his mouth. When he looked down at the grass, it was stained with blood. "Peter?" The blurry figure kneeling over him asked, and he opened his mouth to answer only for more blood to come out in a burst of coughing that made his lungs ache and his head give a stab of pain so agonizing that the world finally went black.

The next thing he knew, something was pressed against his face, the soft hiss of air hitting his face. He was gasping for it, mouth open, and when he opened his eyes, he could see blood flecks on the inside of the mask...it was an oxygen mask. He shuddered, letting his head fall back down against something soft, eyes falling shut once more.

"I don't know...he's unconscious...Tony, I..." Peter thought he heard something else...something far away and tinny, but he could barely see. Everything was blurry and his eyes burned and his chest hurt, but then someone was talking to him.

"Peter? Son, can you hear me?"

That voice was familiar. He opened his eyes and blinked at the blurry man kneeling over him Steve. It was Steve!

Peter opened his mouth to answer, but all he could do was gasp for air, and Steve Rogers put a hand on his chest, shaking his head. "Don't try to talk."

He nodded, letting his eyes close, but Steve tapped his cheek.

"Don't sleep, Peter. You've got a hell of a concussion, and I need to get you to the medbay."

Peter looked around for the first time, quickly realizing they were in the back of an ambulance. "Ned?" He croaked, ignoring the burning in his throat.

Steve gave him a look but relented. "Your classmates are all fine. There was an explosion in your chemistry class and the gas it produced was poisonous. If you hadn't gotten those windows open, your classmates might have died before anyone got to them." He rested a hand on Peter's shoulder. "There were some cuts and bruises, and plenty of concussions, but everyone should be okay."

Peter sighed in relief and Steve gave him a soft smile, patting him on the chest. "We're on our way to the medbay. You've got a nasty concussion and you're going to need to stay on oxygen for a while. Plus Tony is freaking out so…"

"How'd he know?" Peter rasped, and Steve tapped on the mask with a gently stern look.

"Stop talking, Pete." Peter kept staring until the man relented. "Your watch. It registered the change in your vitals and alerted Tony who sent the nearest Avenger. Which was me."

Peter opened his mouth to ask a follow-up, but Steve shook his head, reaching out and placing a gentle hand on Peter's hair, his thumb rubbing gently over his temple where most of the headache seemed to be coming from.

"No more questions. Just rest. You need to keep taking in that oxygen." The hand on Peter's head ruffled his hair, and Steve smiled a little. "Try to stay awake, okay? The ambulance is taking us to the medbay. I talked to the driver. He's not going to tell anyone who you are." Peter gave a weak nod, eyelids already starting to droop, but Steve shook his shoulder a little desperately. "Stay awake, Peter. Hey, I ever tell you about that guy that beat me up three blocks from your apartment?"

"Which time?" Peter whispered, and Steve snorted, slapping a hand against his shoulder.

"Smartass."


	4. Leather Bound Wrists

**Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and reviewing this story! It means so much to me! I hope you enjoy Day 7 of Febuwhump!**

_7\. Leather Bound Wrists_

Tony yanked at the leather cuffs on his wrists, shoulders burning with every movement. Feet pressed firmly against the floor, he yanked himself forward and pulled, not caring if he pulled his shoulders out of place. He had to get free! It was the only thing that mattered. He had to get free and get them the hell out of this place.

In the chair across from him, not six feet away, sat Peter Parker. The boy's chin rested on his chest, blood running from his nose and mouth and dripping onto his science pun pajama shirt. The boy wheezed with every breath, and Tony knew that he was trying not to cry...the kid was fighting tears so hard that his whole body shook with the effort. Tony wanted to tell him to just cry...that it was okay. That he wanted to cry too. But he'd only known the boy for six months, and had had maybe six conversations with him, minus the time Tony had yelled at him for trying to stop the Vulture. And yeah, things had gotten better since Peter had saved Tony's plane, and they'd had most of those six conversations in the two months since. Peter had come to the compound a couple of times, working with Tony in the lab. At first, the boy had been tentative, looking to Tony for permission before doing anything. Literally. Before eating an apple left out for him. Before giving Friday his dinner order. Before going to the bathroom. Finally, Tony had lost patience just a little and had told the kid to just make himself at home. After that, Peter had relaxed a little, but not completely.

Tony had gotten the call from May Parker at half past three in the morning, waking him from a rare night of sound sleep. "Mr. Stark?" Mad had asked when he'd finally answered, voice frantic.

"Hi, Mrs. Parker. What can I do for you?" He'd answered, trying not to sound as tired as he'd felt.

"I'm sorry to wake you. I just...it's almost four am and Peter isn't home." Her voice had broken a little, sounding alarm bells in Tony's head.

May had found out about the boy's superhero alter-ego right around the time Peter had saved Tony's plane, and had been...upset. But after a long conversation with Tony during which he'd promised that her boy had all the safety features Tony could come up with, and whatever ones he came up with later, she'd relented a little. "Okay...um, I'll call his suit." Tony had offered, blinking sleep out of his eyes.

"He's not in the suit." May had whispered then. "I just got home from work and his bedroom is empty and…" She had sniffed. "His suit is still in his backpack. And his phone's still on his bedside table."

Tony had gotten the full story only later. That the men that had taken Peter were enhanced and, of course, trying to get to him. Peter was just bait. They'd drugged fifteen-year-old boy and taken him from his bedroom to get at Tony and he was going to kill them for that. In the meantime, he needed to get out of these cuffs and get Peter out of here. The kid was barely functioning at the moment, and hadn't spoken since they'd tied Tony up about ten minutes ago despite Tony's best efforts. He'd only giving him a bleary-eyed look, blinking a few times before his chin had dropped back to his chest.

Tony had walked straight into the ambush. But all he'd wanted was Peter...he hadn't cared about the rest. He'd been so sure that his armor would be enough. He hadn't counted on them having several enhanced on their side, not to mention a drug that could knock out Peter Parker and cuffs that could hold the boy. Tony hadn't counted on the gun they'd held to Peter's head, the promise that they would shoot the boy's brains out if Tony didn't comply. And he hadn't dared do anything but comply.

"Pete?" He called for what must have been the fifteenth time, straining against the leather cuffs in the too-bright room. Peter's shirt was soaked through with blood, his hair matted to his head, and never had the boy seemed smaller to Tony, not even when he had been strung up between two halves of a ferry. Tony didn't know if it was the drugs in his system that the man who'd cuffed him had been bragging about or the concussion he had to have by now that had him so out of it. They'd obviously beaten the shit out of him. But why? He was already drugged!

"Super drugs strong enough to bring down the amazing Spiderman." That's what the guy had said with a laugh. "Stuck him in the neck and the kid dropped like a bag of rocks. Some superhero huh?"

And Tony had burned with fury, fury that he still felt, but all that mattered now was getting Peter out of this. "Peter?" He asked, yanking once more on the restraints, but the boy was still and then the door opened, a man in a ski mask stepping in. The enhanced one...Tony recognized him from before. He'd been the one bragging about the drugs. "Look, whatever the hell you want, I'll give it to you, okay? Just let us go." Tony tried to negotiate. And it was true. This asshole could have whatever he wanted if he just let Peter go. Hell, Tony would stay behind!

The man chuckled, cracking his knuckles and putting a hand under Peter's chin, the gesture almost gentle, and Tony had to bite his tongue to keep himself from screaming at him to get the hell away from his kid.

The kid. Not his kid. The kid. Peter.

"Me, I don't want anything. I get the money, I do the job." In a flash, he pulled back his fist and slammed it into Peter's face, the boy's head snapping to the side, and possibly something snapping in his face. "But can I really call it a job?" He asked, pulling back for another punch, this one landing right at the corner of Peter's mouth and forcing a grunt from the boy's mouth. Tony felt bile rising in his stomach, barely aware that he was screaming for the man to stop. "You know what they say, if you love what you do, you never work a day in your life." The third punch hit the boy right beside his left eye which was already swollen and bruising, and Tony screamed in fury, leaning in and glaring at the man.

"I'm going to kill you, do you understand me? If you don't get away from my kid, I'm going to fucking kill you!'

"This little shit belongs to you?" The man asked, jerking a thump toward Peter, and Tony strained against the cuffs, shaking his head with a grim smile.

"I'm going to kill you first."

The man laughed and landed another punch, and Tony forced his brain to think rationally. He would get out of these cuffs and get the boy out of here. He'd need to get Peter to the medbay as soon as he could. His nose was definitely broken, along with his jaw, mostly likely, and probably a few teeth. Maybe some ribs. A concussion. But nothing that wouldn't heal. He just had to get the kid out before they did something to him that wouldn't heal.

The man took a step back, looked Peter up and down with a satisfied little nod, then left them alone once more, slamming the door behind him without making any demands or explaining the reason why they were tied up there. Tony strained once more against the leather cuffs, finally screaming in frustration. This couldn't be happening. What the hell did these guys even want?

That's when Peter looked up at him, head nodding unstably as he struggled to focus on Tony. "Mssr...Stark?" The boy slurred, more blood dripping down his chin as he spoke, and Tony flinched at the sight but tried to look at least somewhat comforting.

"Yeah, kiddo. It's me. How you holding up, Pete?"

The boy stared at him for a second, lips trembling, but then he swallowed hard, nodding a little. "I'm...I'm okay."

Tony had to smile, lips twitching into a smile that felt fond. The lie was almost ridiculous, but it was just like the kid.

"What do they want?" Peter's chin bobbed, eyes going out of focus for a moment before he managed to drag them back to Tony.

"No idea, Pete. Any chance you can break out of those?"

The boy seemed to take a minute to figure out exactly what Tony had just said, but after a moment he nodded. "Yeah, I...I can try," He muttered, shifting in the chair and tugging on the handcuffs. His movements were slow and uncoordinated, though, and Tony could tell that the drug was still in his system, making it hard for him to move...to figure out exactly what he was doing. "I...I don't know…"

"It's okay, buddy." Tony assured him, trying to hide the disappointment in his face. He didn't want the kid to think he was upset with him. "They drugged you. Just give it a few minutes. We have to wait for it to wear off." Tony struggled with his own wrists but it wasn't happening, and he really needed to accept that. Peter would get his strength and coordination back. He'd be okay. They both would. The boy's lip trembled and he dropped his head again, sniffing. "It's okay, Peter. We're going to be okay. Just hold on."

It was only about ten minutes later that the door opened once more, and Ski Mask stepped back into the room. Tony groaned. "Look, whatever the hell it is you want…"

"Good news," Mask-guy interrupted, a smile in his voice. "Apparently now that we have you, we don't need him anymore. Once we've got the little one taken care of," he jerked a thumb at Peter, "it's your turn. You know, this really is my favorite part of the job."

Tony's blood turned to ice water, and he felt every drop of it drain from his face. "No...no...he's...he's just a kid. Don't...look, whatever you want…" He pleaded, throwing himself forward. Peter didn't move, head still resting on his chest, breathing unsteadily. "Please, anything...don't hurt him. Please." Ski-Mask ignored him, pulling a gun out of his belt and cocking it. "Please!" He screamed, yanking so hard on his restraints that he felt something pop but the gun was pressed against Peter's forehead and the boy's eyes shot to him and Tony couldn't look.

He jerked his head to the side, a wordless, agonized scream forced from his mouth as the sound of a gunshot filled the air.

He was gone. Peter was gone. Peter was gone and Tony hadn't saved him. Peter was gone. And it was Tony's fault. It was all Tony's fault because he'd dragged Peter into this and he'd barely even spoken to him for so long and the kid had been excited to meet him and Tony had brushed him off and now…

Tony forced his eyes open while the sound of the gunshot still echoed through the air, knowing what he was about to see but making himself face it. The kid was gone, just the latest in the long line who had died because of him, and Tony had to make himself face it. He had to see his boy...he owed him that much. And then...then what? He could kill all of these men. He could kill every person that had made a decision that had led to the death of his mentee. But that wouldn't bring him bak. Whole body shaking, he forced himself to look.

Peter wasn't dead.

That was the first thing Tony noticed, and it nearly made his heart stop. He felt the organ skip a beat in his chest, and his whole body went limp as he stared at Peter, the kid's arm extended, his hand tight around the wrist of the man who had tried to kill him. His own wrist bled sluggishly, and the line of red trailed down his arm. The gun was pointed at the ceiling, and Peter glared at the man just as Tony heard a distinct crack from the man's wrist.

And then Peter was a blur of motion, bursting out of his seat and drawing back a fist, hitting the man so hard on the side of the head that he went down, crumbling onto the floor and not moving. For a moment, it looked like Peter would hit him again, foot drawn back just a little, ready to deliver what would surely be a devastating kick. But the boy stopped himself, just standing there and glaring down at the man.

"Peter…" Tony gasped out, struggling against the leather cuffs on his wrists, and Peter turned to face him, staggering a little, hands trembling at his side.. "Kid...get me out of these," he urged, feeling claustrophobic all of a sudden. "Please...kid, get me out of this."

Peter took a moment, then nodded, stumbling forward and catching himself on Tony's shoulder as he reached for the leather cuffs. The boy broke the strap holding his hands together and Tony yanked them apart, leaping to his feet and grabbing Peter's shoulders. The boy swayed, but Tony held him firm, searching his battered face as Peter stared back at him, looking more than a little confused.

"Pete? Are you with me, kid?" The boy was solid and warm under his hands. Alive. Peter was alive!

"Yeah...just...head hurts. Well...everything hurts." He muttered, blinking slowly. "We should go."

Tony yanked the boy forward, wrapping his arms around him and placing a hand on the back of his head to hold him close. "Peter...Peter…" He whispered, rocking them back and forth for just a second. "You're okay."

The boy was stiff in his arms for a moment, but then he relaxed, bringing up his arms to wrap around Tony's back and resting his head on his shoulder. Tony just hugged him tighter, squeezing him hard, then pulling away, hands on his shoulders, one hand coming up to touch his bloody cheek. "You're okay?" This time it was a question, and Peter nodded, still looking kind of bewildered.

"Yeah...I think so."

"Okay." Tony patted him on the shoulders, trying to force a smile. Peter was alive. He got another chance. He wasn't going to waste it. "Let's get out of here, buddy."

**Thank you for reading!**


	5. Ice Skating

**I decided to do a febufluff prompt instead today! Enjoy :)**

_Febufluff: Ice Skating_

Tony pulled his baseball cap further down over his face, following Rhodey as the two made their way down the busy street. They'd built a skating rink in the middle of the city, and apparently everyone wanted to skate on it. All Tony wanted to do was finish up his Christmas shopping. Online preferably. But Rhodey had insisted on dragging him out for what reason, Tony didn't know. Still, the man had been persistent, and so Tony was walking down a city street in New York at six o'clock in the evening for no apparent reason.

"Rhodey, buddy, pal, platypus...could you just tell me what the hell we're doing here?"

His friend ignored him, moving purposefully toward the skating rink and Tony groaned, throwing his head back and fighting the urge to stomp his feet like a toddler. He'd do anything for his best friend, but he really hated New York excursions that served no apparent purpose. And he especially hated them this close to Christmas when the streets were full of tourists and shoppers.

Rhodey had basically dragged him out of his lab that morning, telling him that he needed to show him something and that they needed to go. Now. And so Tony had gotten up and followed him dutifully out onto the streets. That had been fifteen minutes ago and they were still walking. "Rhodes?"

"We're almost there."

"We'd better not be going ice skating. You know I can't ice skate!"

Rhodey snorted, jerking his head for Tony to catch up, and once he did, he saw that they were indeed heading for the ice rink. "Shut up. I have to show you something." And once they reached the crowded edge of the rink, Rhodey stopped so abruptly that Tony nearly slammed into him.

"The hell…" He grumbled, then glared at Rhodey. "What, an ice rink? I've seen an ice rink before."

"Not the ice rink, genius." His friend rolled his eyes. "Look. Right across from us."

Tony sighed, crossing his arms, but he did as he was bid, looking across the ice rink to scan the faces, only to come to an abrupt halt when he spotted a familiar face. "Peter?" He asked, eyebrows raised. The boy leaned against the railing, watching everyone skate without seeming to take any of it in. Even from across the rink, Tony could see the dark circles under the boy's eyes, and the way he slumped, looking exhausted. He turned back to Rhodey who was watching him, eyebrows lifted. "Why is Peter here?" He asked, as if Rhodey would know.

"He's been here the last two days." At Tony's raised eyebrow, Rhodey went on. "I was on a walk two days ago and spotted him. Same thing yesterday."

"Maybe he's just skating." Tony couldn't quite believe that himself. It wasn't that Peter didn't have a life of his own with friends and his aunt. Tony knee the kid had a whole part of his life that Tony wasn't a part of. But...this was different.

"He's never with any of his friends and he never skates."

Tony frowned at that, turning back to look at the boy who usually would have noticed him looking at that point. But he didn't lift his eyes. Just stared at the skaters with glazed, unfocused eyes. Tony shook his head, turning back to Rhodey. "Why didn't you talk to him?"

"Because I figured this was a problem for his dad."

Tony sputtered, eyes going wide as he turned to his friend in disbelief. "I'm not his…" Tony started, but Rhodey only rolled his eyes, waving a hand to cut him off.

"Yeah, whatever. Just go talk to your kid."

Before he could retort, Rhodey was gone, Tony left staring after him. He was not Peter's dad! The kid was...he was his mentee. And, yeah, Tony had him over every week or so and he'd taught him how to tie a tie for real, not just using a youtube video. And he'd checked him out of school once when he'd been feeling bad and…

Shit.

Tony shook the thought off and began making his way around the rink, slipping past the crowds of people who paid him no attention. As he got closer, he waited for Peter to turn and look at him, to smile...to wave or something. But Peter just kept staring at the ice, not moving. Not paying any mind to the people pushing past him or bumping into him. It wasn't until Tony was standing right beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder, that the boy looked up, eyes wide in surprise. For just a moment, Peter flinched away from him, but then he blinked, and a slow, confused smile lit up his face.

"Hi, Mr. Stark. What are you doing here?"

Tony thought about asking him the same thing, but figured that the boy probably didn't want to talk about it. If he had, he probably would have already. Instead, Tony did his best to think on his feet. "Oh, I was out stretching my legs when I spotted a familiar kid." He reached out, ruffling Peter's hair, and Peter ducked away, grinning and waving him away. Figuring he'd go for the indirect route, he gestured toward the ice rink. "You waiting for Ted?"

The joke of Tony not knowing his friend's name never failed to make the boy at least smile, especially considering the fact that Ned had joined Peter in Tony's lab the week before. This time, though, Peter's smile was sad and weak, distracted in a way it usually wasn't. Peter shook his head.

"No, uh...just doing some Christmas shopping."

Tony decided to ignore the obvious lie and put his arm around his shoulders. "Wanna take a break and get some hot chocolate with me?"

Peter perked up a little at that, and the two headed for the a little restaurant only a few yards away, Tony ordering them both hot chocolates with extra whip and no chocolate drizzle, just the way Peter liked it, then led the kid over to a booth.

Once they were sipping their drinks, with Peter pausing to eat all the whipped cream first, Tony decided to approach the subject gently. Not directly, like he usually approached things, he thought as he savored the sight of Peter closing his eyes and enjoying the hot drink. He would be careful. Something was bothering his kid...the kid...and he needed to find out what it was and see if he could help. But he also didn't want to spook him. Tony would have to be really careful…

"My uncle and I used to go skating around Christmas." The words startled Tony so much that he nearly dropped his cup. Peter wasn't looking at him, though. He was staring into his own cup, eyes far away and sad. "It was our tradition. We'd get up early and...he had his own skates, and he got me a pair too. And we'd skate all day. Sometimes we'd go to Central Park and skate, or when they'd make a rink here, we'd come and eat breakfast first." Peter shrugged as if embarrassed, still refusing to meet Tony's eyes. "I just miss him."

The boy said it as if it was something to be ashamed of. Like it was something Tony would judge him for. And for a moment, Tony felt frozen in place. Thankfully, though, he now had plenty of practice talking to the kid. They'd talked and comforted one another and laughed together and sang together so many times over the last few months. So he reached out, placing his and on Peter's forearm and squeezing gently. "I know you do. I'm sorry, bud."

Peter gave him a strained smile, then dropped his eyes again.

Not enough, Tony thought. He had to do more more. Had to do something to cheer his kid up. So, steeling himself, he took a deep breath. "You know, I don't even know how to ice skate."

Peter's head snapped up, eyes wide in surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah. My mom never took me, Jarvis couldn't skate either, and god knows my dad would never be seen trying it."

"Oh." Peter blinked, eyebrows furrowing in a concern that made Tony's heart warm. It was only a moment before the boy came to the inevitable conclusion. "I could teach you!"

"Really?" Tony forced himself to look interested, trying to push the dread down. "I mean, I don't want to hijack your dad, kid."

"No, I don't really have any plans." The boy smiled then, excited. "We can rent some skates at the rink and I can show you!"

And, resigning himself to his fate, Tony nodded. "Okay. Sounds great."

It was not great.

In a pair of rented skates that Tony prayed wouldn't give him some random terrible New York disease, he was forced to grip Peter's hands so tightly that, had the boy not been enhanced, he would have worried about hurting him. Peter, in his own pair of rented skates, glided slowly backwards, one foot moving, then another, so easily it seemed impossible that Tony could have so much trouble.

"Don't look at your feet." Peter urged, his hands strong around Tony's. Obligingly, Tony lifted his head from his skates which were inching forward in such tiny intervals that if it hadn't been for Peter, he wouldn't be moving at all. The kid's face was open and kind, and he gave Tony a patient smile. "If you look at your feet, you'll lean too far forward and fall."

"Definitely don't want to do that."

Peter laughed. "You probably will. I fell all the time when I was first learning." He move them easily out of the way of a little girl who skated by so quickly she was mostly a blur to Tony who didn't dare turn his head to watch her. The rink was full of little kids gliding around, slipping and falling, then pushing themselves back to their feet to do it all again. Tony worried that if he fell, he wouldn't be able to get himself back up.

After a little while, Peter started to pull back, lengthening his arms and giving Tony a little more space as he continued to skate backwards. Tony had thought that the kid would have rather been skating on his own, flying around the rink with the other kids. Instead, Peter seemed perfectly content with him. When one of Tony's skates would start to slip, Peter's grip would get stronger, steadying him easily. He never made a comment about how Tony would cling to him then, fingers digging into his skin. The kid just gave him that same patient smile and helped him move around the outside of the rink with all the little kids just learning.

"I guess I suck at this, huh kid?" Tony asked, resigning himself to it, but Peter shook his head, face totally serious.

"No you don't. You just don't know how to do it." Peter hesitated, then went on without looking at him, eyes focused on something just past Tony. "Ben always said that when you're first learning something, you have to pretend you're like a toddler learning to walk. It feels impossible, but that doesn't stop a little kid. They keep trying until they get it, and they don't feel bad about falling down." He flushed a little, then grinned, meeting Tony's eyes again. "You should have seen me when I first started making my own webs and swinging around. They kept breaking at first, and I fell all the time."

This story made Tony feel more concern than comfort, but he squeezed Peter's hand, trying to brush past the questions about how high up Peter had been when he'd fallen and if he'd broken anything that might not have set properly. The kid was fine, Tony reminded himself. More than that, the kid was kind. One of the kindest, gentlest people Tony had ever met.

"You're a good kid, Pete." Tony said suddenly, forcing the words out despite how heavy they felt...how serious and emotional. "A great kid. And you're going to be a great man. Your uncle would be so proud of you. Hell, kid, I'm so proud of you."

The boy stared at him for a moment, eyes wide as they moved slowly on the ice. He seemed stunned, mouth partially open, eyes goes from Tony's face to the ground, cheeks turning faintly red. Tony just smiled, carefully pulling one hand out of Peter's and putting it on his shoulder, risking his own balance with the motion. But Peter automatically moved to help steady him. The boy opened his mouth, then closed it, finally whispering a shy 'thank you' and Tony smiled, squeezing his shoulder.

"Alright, buddy. When are you going to teach me one of those fancy jumps?"

Peter gave a surprised laugh, squeezing Tony's hand and shaking his head. "Let's just try and make it once around the rink first."

_**Thank you for reading!**_


	6. Lose You

**_Thank you guys for all of your kind reviews! They mean so so much to me! I hope you like the new chapter!_**

_Lose You_

"Mr. Stark!" Peter whispered, kneeling in the damp grass, ignoring the blood that dripped down his cheek and onto the grass beside the man's face. The moon shone so brightly that it was nearly light out, despite the fact that it was almost two in the morning, and although Peter was grateful to be able to see, he also knew that if he could see, other people could too. "Mr. Stark...please...Mr. Stark!"

The man stirred a little, groaning, and Peter had to fight the urge to shush him, reaching out instead and shaking his shoulder as carefully as he could. The man groaned again, prying his eyes open and looking up at Peter in the bright light of the moon. They needed to go, but Peter was afraid to move him. They were still being followed...the men that had already tried to kill them were still after them, and Mr. Stark didn't have his suit. Neither did Peter. Peter was strong but he couldn't take on all of them, not with their weapons, and not while protecting Mr. Stark.

They'd been on their way upstate.

Mr. Stark had pulled him out of an uneasy sleep only an hour and a half ago, shaking his shoulder so roughly that Peter had gasped awake, sitting up fast and looking around, only for the older man to hold up a finger to his mouth and shake his head. They'd been the only two staying at the tower, with Pepper on a business trip to Hong Kong and Rhodey in DC. Seeing the gesture, Peter had closed his mouth.

"We have to go. Grab a coat. Leave everything else."

Peter had narrowed his eyes, but had forced himself to just nod, throwing his legs over the bed and grabbing the coat hanging over the desk chair in his room in the tower. It had felt like a dream. Mr. Stark had tossed him a pair of socks, and he'd crammed his feet into shoes before following the man at a jog to the elevator, which took them to the underground garage. Mr. Stark had unlocked the car closest to them, and Peter had climbed in, still not asking any questions. It hadn't been until they had been pulling away from the tower and pulling out into the road that Peter had turned to him, curled up in the passenger seat. Mr. Stark had thrown him a tight smile, but had obviously been worried. But still, Peter hadn't asked.

Mr. Stark had waited until they'd been on the road to reach out, patting his shoulder, then giving it a firm squeeze. "Ross knows who you are. I got a call from Rhodey...that asshole sent guys to the tower...we need to get you somewhere safe."

Peter's blood had gone cold, and he'd felt the blood drain from his face. "What about May?"

"I just sent Happy to get her. He's taking her to a safe house. We just need a place to hide out until Rhodey meets us with a new car to take us to the safe house."

"So...where are we going?" Peter had asked, struggling to take it all in and still trying to shake the feeling that this was kind of surreal dream.

Tony had hesitated, then shook his head. "I'm not sure, kid. I just wanted to get out of the tower."

Peter had taken note of the fact that they were driving north and an idea had struck him. "Um...I might know somewhere we could go."

Mr. Stark had turned to him, eyebrows lifted. "Yeah?"

"My...um...my uncle's best friend had a cabin about an hour away from the city. They shared it, but it wasn't in my uncle's name or anything. We used to go fishing sometimes." Peter had shrugged. He hadn't wanted to go to the cabin ever again, not after Ben, but...if they needed a place to hide out, it might work.

Mr. Stark had thought for a long minute, then nodded. "Okay. Yeah. That might work. How do we get there?"

Peter had given him directions, and the man had nodded, squeezing Peter's shoulder once more before putting both hands on the wheel, looking in the rearview mirror, and then at the driver's side mirror. The man had continued to keep a close eye out while Peter had fought his own rapidly closing eyes. Every once in a while, the man had patted his knee or ruffled his hair, telling him that he could rest as soon as they made it to the cabin.

They'd almost made it.

The cars had come out of nowhere, causing the crash that had slammed Peter's head into the window, and almost instantly, Mr. Stark had been unbuckling his seatbelt, touching Peter's face. "Pete? Kiddo, look at me. Are you okay?"

They'd hit a tree. It had taken Peter a second to notice, but then he'd seen the airbags and smelled them, and seen the tree and the crumpled hood.

"Peter!"

"Mr. Stark?"

"Come on, buddy. We have to get out of here!"

Neither of them had had their suits. That had been Peter's first thought as Mr. Stark had half-dragged him out of the car through the driver's side door, the two of them racing into the forest as the sound of gunshots had followed them. Peter had reached out, grabbing Mr. Stark's hand, and pulling him to run faster as they'd made their way into the forest. They hadn't been too far from the cabin, Peter had been sure of it, and he was fast and strong...strong enough to pull Mr. Stark along and his senses had helped him avoid as many leaves and twigs as possible, and they'd been gaining ground, getting further away from the men who had been chasing with their guns drawn…

And then Mr. Stark had collapsed.

The man blinked up at him in the moonlight, eyes dull and unfocused, then lifted a weak, uncoordinated hand to touch Peter's face. "Bud...you're bleeding…" He slurred a little, and Peter brought his finger to his lips, shushing him this time.

"We have to be quiet!" He hissed, looking up to make sure no one was nearby, although his senses were relatively quiet. He could still hear those men, though. Could still feel them close by. Peter knelt down a little closer to the ground, trying to stay low and out of sight. All around them were trees and thorn bushes and he knew that if he could just get Mr. Stark back on his feet, he could get them to the cabin. Maybe they'd be safe there.

His uncle's friend had kept a gun in the cabin.

Peter peered down at his mentor who had let his hand drop, eyes fluttering shut. Right above his knee was a growing dark patch, with a hole in the center. His head was bleeding too, and Peter thought he must have hit it during the wreck. "Mr. Stark?" He asked again, shaking him a little, but this time the man didn't stir, and Peter pressed his fingers to Mr. Stark's wrist. His pulse was too fast, fluttering under Peter's fingertips. "Mr. Stark? Please." He begged, shaking Mr. Stark's shoulder once more, but the man was still. Peter dropped his head, blowing out an exhausted breath, then reached under his shoulders and his knees, lifting the man who, thanks to his enhanced strength, weighed next to nothing.

And then Peter started running in what he hoped was the right direction, clutching Mr. Stark as tightly as he could so he wouldn't jostle him too much. The moon was too bright, and Peter was sure with every footstep that they would be shot down, but Peter didn't see another person as he ran, trying to breathe as quietly as possible. To step on as few twigs as possible in the pouring rain. Mr. Stark's head bobbed as he ran, and Peter tried to ease his head onto his shoulder without slowing down.

Even running as quickly as he could, it took almost half an hour to reach the familiar road that led to the cabin. Peter ran alongside it, staying in the cover of the trees and bushes, finally bursting out just as he reached the door. It was locked, of course, but Peter knew where the spare key was. He knelt down, placing Mr. Stark down in the doorway, flinching when his head fell back against the door. "Sorry, sorry," he whispered, then hurried over to the side of the cabin, looking through the decorative rocks until he found the one with the key on the bottom.

Once he had Mr. Stark inside, he nudged the door shut, locked the door, and placed the man on the sofa, racing into the other room to get the first aid kit his uncle had kept in the bathroom. It wasn't much...just barely enough to patch up a normal cut, but Peter would have to make due.

With shaking hands, he placed the kit at Mr. Stark's side and grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen, cutting away the fabric around the bullet wound. There was no exit wound, and Peter looked up at Mr. Stark, at his slack face and the bloody cut at his hairline, and he grabbed the tweezers from the kit.

He didn't let himself look around the cabin. He didn't let himself remember himself and Ben on this same sofa, eating the fish they'd caught only hours before frying it. He didn't let himself think about how they'd played hide-and-seek in these woods and built LEGO sculptures at the table and told each other ghost stories in home-made blanket forts. Peter just stared at the man's leg and zeroed in on the bullet wound. He had to get the bullet out or he might lose yet another father figure.

As soon as Peter placed the tweezers inside the wound with a single minded focus, Mr. Stark screamed, and Peter reached up without thought clamping his hand over his mouth. "Shh...I'm sorry...shhh!" He begged, unable to help noticing the heat coming off of his face. "Shh...I have to get it out. I'm sorry!" And, with tears streaming down his face, Peter dug as carefully as he could, with one hand, clamping down hard on Mr. Stark's mouth with the other, easily absorbing the weak clawing and occasional hit from Mr. Stark's flailing hands.

Steady, Peter told himself. Steady. He had to do this. Had to get the bullet out. Nothing else mattered. And then, after what felt like hours, he had it, pulling straight up and removing the bullet, dropping it on the floor. Sweat dripped down his back and mixed with the rainwater that had soaked him to the bone, and he shuddered with the cold he hadn't felt yet, but it didn't matter. Not yet. He had to help Mr. Stark. He rummaged through the kid, grabbing the bottle of alcohol and, clamping his hand over Mr. Stark's mouth once more, he dumped some of it into the wound, flinching hard at the muffled scream.

"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry," he whispered, unable to see for the tears pouring from his eyes. The man on the sofa sobbed, his own tears running down his face, and it was Peter's fault. "It's over...the bad part...it's over. I'm sorry. I had to clean it. I'm so sorry."

The man didn't respond, only relaxed onto the sofa, eyes rolling back, face falling lax. Meanwhile, Peter placed several gauze pads against the wound and wrapped it with white bandages as best he could, then stepped back, staring at the man for a second.

"Mr. Stark?" He asked again, tears he couldn't stop still falling. "Mr. Stark, please…"

No response.

Leaving him for just a second, Peter ran into the kitchen, grabbing a dusty glass, rinsing it out, then filling it with tap water. His uncle's friend had told him that he could use the cabin any time after Ben had died, and he knew that the older man still used it sometimes, so they had a generator to power the mini fridge and space heater, and they could get water, but that was about it. Grabbing an ibuprofen from the bottle by the sink and hoping it wasn't expired, he dissolved it into the water, then carried the glass to the sofa. Slipping a hand under the back of his head and tilting it up, Peter held the glass to his lips and tilted it. Thankfully, the man swallowed reflexively without choking, and Peter managed to get him to swallow almost a quarter of the glass. He pressed his hand against the back of Mr. Stark's forehead again.

Still hot. Too hot.

Searching the closet, Peter pulled out an oversized shirt and began the difficult and somewhat awkward process of yanking Mr. Stark's shirt off, then dressing him in a dry one and covering him with a blanket. And that was all he could do.

Did Rhodey know where they were? Had Mr. Stark been able to tell him?

Peter sat down in his still-wet clothes, reaching over and turning the space heater on but leaving the lamp beside the sofa off, closing his eyes and resting his head against the side of the sofa. Above him, Mr. Stark lay dead to the world, and Peter wiped his face, sniffing and trying to stop the tears. Rhodey would come. Rhodey had to come. He would come with the War Machine armor and he would save them and...Peter's eyes flew open when his senses gave a buzz of warning. Jumping to his feet, he raced into the tiny bedroom, which held only a full sized bed, and opened the closet once more, this time reaching down and pulling out the gun safe. Keying in the code, he pulled out the loaded 9 millimeter pistol, flinching at the weight of the cold metal in his hands.

The gun was loaded, safety off. Ben had always told him that, face serious. "Peter, if you pick up that gun, remember that it's hot. Ready to shoot."

Taking up his post once more by the sofa, he listened cocking the gun and pointing it at the door. If they tried to come in...if they tried to take him or hurt Mr. Stark...he'd…he'd do it. He'd stop them. No matter what it took. In this cabin, surrounded by reminders of Ben that he tried so hard to ignore, Peter was not about to lose someone else.

Peter must have sat there for almost two hours. There was no clock, he wasn't wearing his watch, and his phone was back at the tower. But it felt like hours, and there was just a hint of sunlight outside. More than once, he'd heard footsteps, and he'd lifted his arms a little higher, waiting. Shaking. Crying. And every few minutes, he'd look back at Mr. Stark who lay pale and still on the sofa. He'd wiped his head with a damp cloth, cleaning away the blood, but Mr. Stark hadn't even stirred. Peter was freezing, but he didn't dare leave his post by the sofa, sure that if he did, the door would be kicked in and...and then he'd have to...Peter shook his head, refusing to think about it.

As the sun was rising, he placed his hand on Mr. Stark's forehead, wincing at the heat, and the man groaned, opening glazed eyes to look up at him. "Pep?" He slurred.

"Mr. Stark? It's...it's me. It's Peter...sir? Are you okay?"

"Pete?" He repeated, and Peter felt tears stream down his own cheeks, making his vision blur.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's me."

"Hey, bud," Mr. Stark tried to smile, reaching up once more, reaching up to touch Peter's cheek. "Wha's wro…?"

"I...I can't lose you. Please...please not you too," Peter whispered from his spot at Mr. Stark's side, knees aching, whole body shaking. He still felt damp from the rain despite the space heater. "Please...everyone else…my dad and Ben…" He closed his eyes, leaning into Mr. Stark's warm hand, and the man rubbed a thumb under his eye, wiping away one of the hundreds of tears that was immediately replaced. "Not you too."

"It's okay, Pete…" Mr. Stark trailed off, hand dropping, and Peter sobbed, dropping his head onto the man's stomach. "Don't...don't cry…"

When Peter looked up at him again, the man's eyes were shut, and when he lifted his eyelids, all he could see were the whites of his eyes. "Mr. Stark...please... " He whispered, shaking him a little. "Please...please don't leave me."

Resting his head on Mr. Stark's stomach one more time, he tried to stop crying. Tried to think of a plan. But all he could feel was the heat from his body and the heavy, cold metal of the gun in his hand and the sounds of the forest around them...the soft hum of the generator. "Please." He whispered, closing his eyes and shivering in the cold. "Please...please don't leave me."

Peter must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, the door was being kicked in, and he jumped upright, swinging around and pointing the gun at…

Steve Rogers and Colonel Rhodes.

"Easy, son." Steve urged, hands up, but Rhodey rushed over, kneeling beside him and, shooting Mr. Stark a look, he reached out, putting a hand on Peter's arm, ignoring the gun.

"Pete? Are you okay?"

"I tried...I tried to help him," Peter whispered, and Rhodey moved his hand down to the gun, gently removing it from Peter's hands.

"You did. You helped him, Peter. He's gonna be fine. Steve? Can you get Tony to the car?"

Steve gave a quick nod, and Rhodey got an arm around Peter and pulled him to his feet, leading him toward the door.

"But...they were shooting at us and…" Peter startled, balking, but Rhodey just patted his back.

"Don't worry, kid. They're long gone. Come on. We're going to get the both of you to the safe house. And we need to get you some new clothes. You're soaked. May and Pepper are waiting." Peter glanced back at Mr. Stark, limp in Steve's arms, but Rhodey urged him forward. "Come on, Pete."

"Is he okay?" He asked, looking back one more at Mr. Stark. Rhodey nodded, pulling him forward once more.

"He's going to be fine…"

"He and May...they're all I have." He whispered, meeting Rhodey's eyes with his own wet ones. "I can't...I can't lose him too…"

"Hey," Rhodey put a hand on the side of his face, moving in close so Peter had to look at him. "Tony's going to be fine. Don't worry. You did a good job. You found a place to hide. Now we're going to get him to a doctor, okay?"

Peter nodded, wiping sheepishly at his eyes, but Rhodey didn't let go.

"And...I know it's not the same, but you've got me too, Pete. And Steve. Nat. All of us. We've got you, Pete." Pulling Peter into a warm hug, Rhodey rubbed his back as Peter felt something in him break, and he sobbed into Rhodey shoulder until the man somehow got him to the car where he promptly fell asleep.

**Thank you for reading!**


	7. Hugs

_**We made it to day 10! Woo! I hope you guys enjoy this one! I went with the fluff prompt because I wanted a break from all the whump :) **_

Febufluff: Hugs

Tony hadn't known that kids enhanced by radioactive spiders could get sick. The boy had never been sick before...not in the years before the snap anyway. Then he'd been gone. For five years. And now, on Peter's first visit to the lakehouse, the kid was sick. Tony reached out, brushing Peter's sweaty hair back, resting a hand against his forehead. Hot. Too hot. Shaking his head, he rested his head on Peter's head. "Geez, kid. When you do a thing, you don't do it halfway, do you?" He asked, voice soft and fond.

Peter had been a little hesitant to visit Tony at first. After seeing the kid on the battlefield and throwing his arms around him, unable to bear the thought of letting him go but also knowing that they had to keep fighting, Tony hadn't wanted to let Peter out of his sight. And after Steve had snapped his fingers, giving his life to save the universe, Tony had led a shell shocked and shaky Peter off of the battlefield, the two of them going through a portal to the Sanctum along with the other Avengers. While Helen Cho tended the seriously wounded, Tony had led Peter up the stairs to a private room and sat him on the bed, still in his suit.

"I want it off." Those had been Peter's first words as his fingers had started scratching uselessly at the Iron Spider, and Tony had nodded.

"Alright, bud. Here." Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he'd brought up Friday, ordering her to remove the suit since Peter was in no shape to do it himself. At the command, the nanites had retracted, leaving Peter in just his regular suit. It was torn, although Tony had no idea when that could have happened. The battle before they'd gone up on the alien spaceship? It had been five years! "Better?" He'd asked, and Peter had given a shaky nod. Unable to help himself, Tony had reached out, brushing his curls out of his face and resting his hand on the side of his face. "Deep breaths, Pete."

Peter had complied, and it had taken a few moments for him to speak again. "Was...was it really five years?"

"Yeah, kiddo."

"Is May…?"

"She disappeared too. So she should be back."

"Did...did anyone…" Peter glanced over at the door, swallowing hard, and Tony guessed the rest of his question.

"Nat's gone. There was...a sacrifice. To get the last of the stones. And she...she did it."

Peter's eyes had widened. "Black widow?"

Tony had nodded. "Yeah, bud." The pain had still been fresh for him, right alongside the wonder at seeing Peter alive again. "I missed you so much, Peter. So much." He'd blurted it out, shaking his head as tears had sprung to his eyes. "God, Pete...I can't believe I got you back." He's leaned forward again, pulling Peter into another hug, and Peter had tentatively wrapped his arms around him, head resting on his shoulder while Tony had pressed a kiss to the side of his head. "I never thought I'd get to see you again. I thought...I thought you were gone."

And then he'd just held him, breathing deeply, trying to memorize that smell and the feel of his kid in his arms, just like he'd done with Morgan.

After what felt like a long time, he'd pulled away, smiling softly at Peter. "I love you, kid. I love you so much." Peter's eyes had widened, but Tony had continued, the words so easy now that he'd said them so often to Morgan. "I never told you, and I'm so sorry. But I love you. You were like a son to me...like my first kid."

Peter had blushed a little, eyes dropping, but the tiny smile had given him away. "I uh...I love you too, Mr. Stark."

Tony had grinned, leaning down and kissing his forehead.

Later, when Peter had met Morgan, the girl had widened her eyes at him, looking over at her father. "Daddy...it's Spiderman!"

"I know," Tony had said with a smile.

"I thought...I thought you said a bad man killed my big brother."

Peter's eyes had gone wide, but Tony had just nodded. "He did. Because I thought he had. But...but we found a way to save him. And...and now the bad guy is gone for good."

Morgan had turned to Peter, approaching him almost cautiously. Dressed in sweatpants and an Iron Man t-shirt, Peter had stared down at her in the front room of the Sanctum, Pepper moving over to Tony's side to take his hand. This was all Tony had wanted...to watch his children meet. Peter had knelt down a little, giving her a soft smile, and Tony had watched something in Peter shift. He'd seen it the second Morgan had said 'big brother.'

When Morgan had reached him, Peter had smiled, opening his arms and, without hesitation, Morgan had stepped into them, wrapping her tiny arms around him. When she'd pulled away, she'd smiled up at him. "I'm Morgan. You're my big brother!"

Peter had blinked a few times, swallowing, then had nodded. "Yeah...yeah, I am. I'm Peter."

When Tony had asked the kid over to the lakehouse, he'd known that Pepper had a special weekend with Morgan planned. Some 'Mommy/daughter' time, as she'd put it. And although Morgan had pouted a little that she wouldn't get to spend any time with her brother, Tony had sat her down, pulling her into his lap. "I haven't seen Peter in a really long time, and I wanted to spend some time with him. Next time he comes, you can stay and play with him, I promise."

And so she'd reluctantly agreed.

Peter had been acting strangely from the time he'd first arrived, face kind of flushed, being quieter than usual. Tony had chalked it up to nerves. Or just the strangeness of this new life, five years after he'd gone to battle with Tony on Titan, but it had only been days for Peter. So Tony had showed him around the place, showed Peter his bedroom and his lab and Gerald. And Peter had been having a good time. He'd gone to bed early that night, only for Tony to get a notification in the middle of the night that Peter's temperature was rising.

Tony had jumped out of bed, racing into the other room to find that Friday had been right. The boy lay curled up under his blankets, shivering despite the heat radiating from him. "Hey, bud," Tony murmured, shaking the boy's shoulder. Peter groaned, turning his head away, then groaning again as if that hurt. "Pete?"

"Ben?"

The question made Tony freeze, and he took a deep breath, then shook his head, fighting to keep his voice even. "No...no, it's Tony, kiddo." He murmured. "You're pretty hot. I'm going to get you some water, okay? And some medicine. How are you feeling?"

"Tony?"

"Yeah, bud. It's me. I'll be right back, okay?"

"Tony?" Peter asked again, and Tony gave in, sitting down on the bed and resting his hand on Peter's burning forehead.

"I'm right here, Pete."

The boy blinked at him, then reached up. "I...I keep dreaming that I'm...I'm falling apart. Tony, I don't...don't want to...sir, I don't want to go…"

Tony flinched hard, closing his eyes for a moment before taking Peter's hand. "It's just a dream, Underoos." He murmured, running his fingers through Peter's hair. "It's not real. You're safe."

"I...I died...Tony…" Tears spilled from the boy's eyes, and Tony reached down, pulling Peter into his arms and kissing his hair.

"I know. I know, buddy. But I got you back. You're safe now."

Peter lifted his arms, hiding his face in Tony's neck and sniffling. "I was scared. Tony...Mr. Stark...it hurt." He sobbed, and Tony rubbed his back, fingers brushing against his burning neck, tears filling his own eyes.

"I know. I'm so sorry. But you're safe. I've got you." He rocked them back and forth for a long time, until Peter's body slumped and his head drooped against Tony's shoulder. The comforting words slipped out then, just like they always did with Morgan. "There you go. Rest, baby. Just rest. You're going to feel better soon. I promise. I'm going to get you some medicine. Okay? Then I'm going to put you back to bed."

Tony started to stand, only to freeze as he straightened. Peter's head fell back, mouth parted, cheeks flushed, but his hands were still stuck to Tony's back. "Uh...kiddo?" He asked, shaking him a little. "Buddy? Can you, uh...can you let go? I need to get your medicine but I'll be right back."

No response.

"Pete? Wake up, buddy. Come on. We can go back to the hugging as soon as I get back, okay?"

Nothing.

Tony gave a long sigh and dropped his head back, then cupped a hand under Peter's neck, easing his head forward and resting it against his shoulder. "Fine." He muttered, patting his back. "I guess you're coming with me." Hoisting the boy up, he put the kid on his hip like he had Morgan a thousand times. Carrying Peter down the hall, he headed for the lab where he kept the kid's super-drugs, clearly labeled so no one else ever accidently took them. Grabbing two from the bottle, he carried the lighter-than-he-should-be boy into the kitchen, carefully filling a glass with cold water, then carrying everything to the sofa.

Sitting down, Tony adjusted the boy until he could put the glass down. "Pete? C'mon, buddy, time to take some medicine."

Peter groaned, hiding his face in Tony's neck once more, and Tony chuckled a little, patting his back.

"You can go back to hugging me as soon as you take your medicine, I promise. But unless you want your brain to melt, you need to take your pills." He poked Peter a few times in the side, making him jump, then blink blearily up at him. "There you are. Here. Open your mouth."

Peter did, not questioning why Tony would suggest such a thing, then let Tony pour the water into his mouth, enough that he could swallow the pills, and then a little extra.

"There you go. That's going to make you feel better."

The kid hummed in agreement, dropping his head on Tony's shoulder once more and latching onto him again. "I missed you." He muttered. "I don't...don't remember but...but I missed you."

Tony closed his eyes, squeezing Peter tightly. "I missed you too, Pete. So much."

"I love you."

"Love you too, Underoos. Now let's get you back in bed, okay?"

Unsurprisingly, Peter was once more stuck firmly to Tony once they reached his bedroom, but that was fine with him. Laying down on Peter's bed, he rested his head on the pillow, pulling Peter close and closing his eyes. "Friday, get the lights."

"Yes sir."

"And Friday? If his fever gets any worse, call Helen?"

"Of course, sir."

**Thank you for reading!**


	8. Graceless

_**A short one for day 11 :)**_

Graceless

"We have to tell Tony."

Peter crossed his arms, glaring straight ahead at the wall a few feet away. One leg was stretched out in front of him on the bed in the medbay, and his other knee was bent, foot dangling off the side. A boot covered his bandaged foot and ankle, and he could practically feel Natasha's guilt. It didn't really make him feel any better, not when he'd hurt himself in the dumbest way possible in front of the Black Widow...and now they were going to tell Mr. Stark.

Helen entered the room only seconds after the words were uttered, placing a medicine bottle onto the table on Peter's left, sharing a look with Natasha before speaking. "Peter, I do have to tell him." Her voice was gentle, almost apologetic.

He just glared at the wall, so Helen went on.

"He's technically my boss. He doesn't have a lot of rules, but this is a big one. If anything happens to you, especially anything that requires me to treat you and prescribe you pain medicine, I have to inform him."

"He's not my father." As soon as the words were out, Peter regretted them. Flinching, he dropped his eyes, glad Mr. Stark wasn't there to hear them. "Sorry." It wasn't that it wasn't true...Mr. Stark wasn't his father. But in the last two years, he'd become something pretty close. Not quite a father, but more than just a mentor. No one had really said it out loud yet, but that didn't make it any less true.

Helen dropped a hand on his shoulder. "It was an accident. He'll understand."

"He's going to laugh. Everyone's going to laugh."

Natasha sighed, moving to sit on the bed beside him. "He won't laugh, Peter."

"You did." His voice came out snappish and his cheeks flushed in embarrassment. He felt bad for snapping at her. Really, he did. But it was just so humiliating!

Peter had just happened upon her dancing. He'd been sleeping over at the Compound, and Mr. Stark had left that morning for a business trip, promising to be back soon. It was a last minute thing, and he knew the man had felt bad, so Peter had promised that it was fine. That he could entertain himself for a day. In turn, Mr. Stark had promised to be back as soon as he could that evening and that they'd order an obscene amount of takeout and work in the lab and maybe even watch a movie. That had sounded good to Peter, and so after waving goodbye to Mr. Stark from the sofa that morning while eating a bowl of cereal, he'd gone exploring.

That's when he'd found Natasha. He'd seen her around before, and she'd always been friendly, waving or smiling, asking how he was. But most of his time at the Avengers Compound was spent in the lab wth Mr. Stark, so he'd never really gotten the chance to have real conversations with her. That morning, he'd paused in the hallway, then followed the music to a room he'd never been in, with a barre running along one wall, and mirrors on all the others. He'd stood and watched, peering in through the cracked door until she'd stopped, spinning around and fixing him with a look that had made him stand up straight. She hadn't been angry. Just curious. Surprised. He'd rushed to apologize anyway.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to…"

Natasha had only smiled at him, beckoning for him to come in.

"I didn't know you did ballet." Peter had started lamely.

"Tony built this room for me a few months ago when he saw me practicing in the basement. The next day, he left a note on the kitchen table for me with a key to this room. I haven't done any real dancing in a long time...I was starting to miss it." In the background, the music had continued to play, and a line of sweat had run down the side of her flushed face. "Have you ever tried?"

Peter had thought back to his childhood as an asthmatic klutz and had shaken his head a little sheepishly. "No. It's really cool though. I mean...you're really good."

She'd laughed a little. "Thanks. Why don't you try?"

"Really?" He'd asked, flushing. "Um...no, no thanks. I mean..."

"Come on. I've seen what you can do. This will be a snap. It'll be fun." She'd held out her hand, and, after a hesitation, he'd taken it. What was the worst that could happen?

Peter had lasted for fifteen minutes before he'd broken his ankle.

Natasha's bark of surprised laughter had been the last thing he'd heard as soon as he'd hit the floor, and his cheeks had flushed before the pain had hit, sharp and agonizing. She had rushed to his side, then, dropping to her knees and putting a hand on his arm. "Peter? Are you okay?" She'd asked, flinching back when he cried out in pain, a hand clutching at his ankle.

And then she'd gotten him to Helen who had proclaimed the ankle broken.

"I'm sorry," Natasha whispered, putting a hand on his arm. "I really am. I didn't mean to laugh at you. You should have seen how many times I fell when I first started dancing." At some point, Helen had stepped out of the room, and he wondered if she was calling Mr. Stark. But Natasha went on. "Once, I fell and broke my nose in front of everyone. They all laughed, and I cried...there was blood everywhere. They had to get us out of the room to clean all of it up." Peter glanced over at her, then dropped his eyes once more, still humiliated. "I'm sorry."

He shrugged, dropping his eyes and muttering an okay.

"We do have to tell Tony." He shrugged again, and she sighed, picking up her phone. "I'm going to call him, okay? Get it over with. I'll tell him that you're fine. You'll only be in the boot for a couple of days thanks to your healing." Touching the numbers on her phone, she held it up to her ear, keeping the hand on Peter's arm. As much as he didn't really want to admit it, it was comforting. His ankle still throbbed, and he didn't really want to be alone, despite his embarrassment. "Hey, Tony. Um...I need to tell you something. It's about Peter."

Immediately Peter heard Mr. Stark's raised voice and Natasha gave him a rueful smile. Mr. Stark was nothing if not overprotective.

"He's okay. He's fine. We were…" She hesitated, glancing at him, then smiling a little. "We were training in the gym. Yes, I know...I hit him a little too hard and he fell. It's...Tony calm down." She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. Peter felt his own lips turn up, hopeful. Would it work? Would Mr. Stark really believe her? "We were training and he fell. It's just a broken ankle. It'll heal in a few days. Helen's already looked him over. He's going to be...yeah, you can."

Natasha held the phone out to Peter and he took it, holding it to his ear and smiling. "Hey, Mr. Stark."

"Peter? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. It's like she said. I just...tripped and broke my ankle. But it's fine."

"Geez, kiddo. I leave you alone for one day."

Peter flushed. "I know...I'm sorry."

Mr. Stark sighed, tone softening. "Don't be sorry, buddy. Are you sure you're okay? Does it hurt?"

He decided to go with a lie. Mr. Stark couldn't see his face, so it would probably be fine. "Not really. Helen gave me some pain meds."

"Good. Alright." The man took a deep breath, sounding like he was trying to calm himself down. He always worried so much. "Keep it elevated. No more training until it's healed, okay?"

"I know. I won't."

"Now let me talk to Nat?"

Peter handed her the phone again, and she endured the lecture with a patient smile, nodding along with Tony's admonishments. "I know, Tony. I'm sorry." She told him finally when he'd finished telling her that Peter was just a kid and his responsibility and that she needed to be careful with him. It was all only mildly humiliating for Peter who had to listen to it too. "I messed up. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your kid."

Peter waited for Mr. Stark to contradict her...to remind Natasha that Peter wasn't his kid. Instead, the man just released a breath. "I know. I'll be home in a few hours. Tell Pete I'll bring him some cheeseburgers...I know healing makes him hungry."

"Will do."

Once she'd hung up, Peter peered at her sheepishly, all of his anger forgotten. He supposed, if he thought about it, it probably had been kind of funny, especially considering he could walk a web tightrope but couldn't manage to do a few ballet moves without getting his feet tangled up. "Thank you. For not telling him what really happened."

"If Tony knew that, not only did I cause you to fall and break your ankle, but that I also accidentally laughed at you while doing so, I'd have to find a new place to live." She smiled, ruffling his hair. "It'll just be our little secret?"

Peter nodded, wide-eyed and relieved. "And...um...after my leg is healed...do you think we could...maybe…"

She smiled. "Do you want to try ballet again?"

He nodded, sheepish, and Natasha nodded.

"Of course we can."

_**Thank you for reading! **_


	9. Stabbed

Stabbed

All things considered, this was not Peter's night. Or his day. Honestly, it wasn't really his week. Getting stabbed was just sort of the icing on the cake at this point.

The fight with May over hiding his Spiderman injuries had been the beginning, followed by a hellish week of quizzes and tests he hadn't had time to study for, Flash being more of an asshole than usual, and an Academic Decathlon competition that they'd lost. Because of him. It was starting to feel like too much...he loved being Spiderman! He loved his powers and swinging around the city and helping people! But...maybe May had been right, he thought as he leaned against the wall of the alley, head thrown back. Maybe he needed to make a little more time in his life for things that weren't Spiderman.

But how was he supposed to do that? How was he supposed to step back and let other people die because he wanted better grades? And to spend time with his friends. And his aunt. Peter shook his head. That was the least of his problems at the moment. Yeah, he needed to figure all of that out and maybe talk to May. And he needed to go back into his suit and de-hack Karen because he might have told her not to call Mr. Stark if he wasn't actively dying, and he thought some help might be nice.

The knife was still sticking out of his front, the blade disappearing between his shoulder and his collarbone, and he really needed to do something about it. But going home to May was out of the question. She'd totally freak out if she saw the knife. And he didn't want to bug Mr. Stark. The man already thought he was a kid, even though the man had said he'd been wrong about him after the whole Vulture thing and they'd even started talking sometimes. Like, not much, but sometimes he'd get a call or a text checking in, and a few weeks ago, he'd gotten a (very minor) concussion and Iron Man had come to the rescue. He'd totally blown everything out of proportion, taking Peter to the tower's Medbay and staying by his side for the whole night. And that had been really nice. But still. Mr. Stark had only done it because he felt responsible for Peter, and that wasn't what Peter wanted. He wanted Mr. Stark to...to want to mentor him. To be his...something.

But Mr. Stark was busy. And it was fine. Peter was fine. Everything would be fine. He just had to prove himself to Mr. Stark...that he was a real superhero and capable of taking care of himself. In the meantime, he needed to find a place to pull the knife out and maybe put some kind of pressure on the wound.

Mr. Stark didn't want to be his friend. Or his mentor. That was fine. Peter was fine. He would be fine. Just, he told himself, pull out the knife.

He gripped the handle, taking a deep breath and staring up at the dark sky. It was too smoggy and too bright in the city to see the stars, but he knew they were up there. He tried to focus on that as he held the handle of the kitchen knife that the guy trying to rob a couple of high schoolers had been carrying for some reason. Whatever. It didn't matter. He just needed to pull out the knife.

"Peter, might I suggest you not remove the knife," Karen spoke up for the first time in a while, her voice gentle. "I believe your best line of action would be to call Mr. Stark and inform him that you have been injured. If you remove the knife now, it will be difficult to stop the bleeding."

"It's fine, Karen." The knife hurt. It hurt so much. He just needed to get it out. It felt wrong, like his body was trying to heal around it, and everything hurt! He just needed to get the knife out and then he could put pressure on it and sneak in through his window and everything would be fine.

Peter took a deep breath, head resting against the building behind him...and then he yanked it out.

It hurt even more coming out, and Peter had to bite back a cry of pain, teeth clenched so tightly that he thought he might break out. His stomach turned, but the thought of bending over to throw up was even worse, so he swallowed hard, doing his best to take deep breaths and push back the nausea. A whimper escaped, and he stared up at the sky once more from behind the lenses of his mask, a shaky hand pressing against the bloody mess on his shoulder. His hand opened, and the knife hit the ground with a soft clatter.

"Shit. Fuck. Shit." He hissed. But it didn't help. "Shit." He hissed one more time, tears gathering in his eyes. Suddenly he wasn't just leaning against the wall...it was holding him up, and he found himself sliding until his butt hit the concrete, legs splayed out in front of him. His breathing was too fast, heart racing in his ears, and his whole body seemed to sway as he fought to stay conscious. It wasn't long before his glove was soaked with blood, and Karen was talking to him...urging him to do something, but what?

His head swam and the world spun and he knew suddenly that he needed to get up. He needed to stand and get out of this alley. Reaching back, he grabbed the wall and tried to pull himself up, legs scrambling to support his weight. It sort of worked. He hung from his left hand, legs trembling, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Karen?" He asked, knees literally shaking. "I...I uh…"

"Peter, you need to receive medical attention. Would you like me to call Mr. Stark?"

Was the mask the reason it was so hard to breathe?

"Woah...Spider guy?"

The words took him by surprise but his body was slow to react. His left arm hung useless at his side, and he tried to stare at the person and figure out who they were, but suddenly they were right beside him and he was leaning on them...his knees had buckled, he realized. "Woah...woah, man? Hey...are you…"

Peter blinked, mouth open as he tried to get more air. He wasn't getting enough air and his heart was beating so fast. "I'm...I'm…" He tried, his voice a weak croak, and the guy said something else. Something soft that he didn't understand. "I can't...can't breathe…"

"Okay. Hey, why don't you sit down? Steve? It's Tony's guy...the Spider one. He's hurt. Bring me a first aid kit."

Not sure who the man was talking to, Peter let him ease him down to the ground and place a firm hand against his left shoulder. Blinking to try and clear his vision, Peter stared at the guy until it came to him. He was wearing a baseball cap pulled down over his face, along with a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, but he recognized him. "You...you're...Falcon…"

"Yeah, and you're bleeding. Hang on, Steve is bringing a first aid kit. We're going to help."

"I can't breathe…" Peter pressed his good hand to his chest and swayed on the ground, head falling back against the brick wall.

"Were you hit anywhere else?"

"Falcon…"

"Call me Sam. Were you hit anywhere else?"

"Sam, I can't…" Knowing it was probably a bad idea but not able to remember why, Peter grabbed the bottom of his mask and yanked it off, dropping it at his side and gasping, trying to get more air. When he opened his eyes a crack to look at the man crouched beside him, Sam Wilson was staring at him, wide-eyed. "I can't breathe." This time it came out as more of a plea, and the man shook himself.

"I think it's just the blood loss. Are you dizzy?"

Peter nodded, trying to hum out a yes and possibly failing.

"Can you call Stark?" Peter only blinked at him. "Tony. Can you call Tony? Iron Man? Tell him you're hurt? He can get you some help. I'm guessing you're enhanced because normal people can't stick to walls."

"He's...he's busy...Sam he...doesn't want to…" Peter's tongue was heavy and too big in his mouth.

The man softened a little. "Alright, kid. What's your name?"

"'M Peter."

"Alright, Peter. We're going to fix you up, and then we're going to get you somewhere safe, okay? Do you parents know that you do this whole superhero thing?"

"Dead." Peter muttered, dark spots appearing at the edge of his vision, making the world look like the end of a tunnel. "They...they died."

"Okay. Guardians? Who do you live with?"

"My aunt. She...she's right...I shouldn't have…" He hoped that Sam knew where that sentence was going, because suddenly talking was too hard, and then footsteps were approaching. Sam angled himself in front of Peter, glancing over his shoulder until the person was closer, and then he relaxed a bit.

"He's lost a lot of blood, Steve. Do we have fluids back at the safe house?"

"Wait...how old is.."

"Steve! Focus! He's going to pass out and we need to get him back to the safe house. Do we have fluids?"

"We...yeah. Yeah, I think so."

Their words were moving farther and farther away, and Peter let his eyes shut, giving up on watching to see what would happen. One of them was pressing hard on his shoulder and it hurt, but not as bad as it had been. Not long after, someone was scooping him up and carrying him and his head was resting on their shoulder while a hand kept pressure on his arm. "Peter? Try and stay with us."

But he couldn't. Try as he might, the darkness was just too warm and he had to slip into it.

When he woke, the world was dark. One second, he was sound asleep. The next, someone was talking. But not to him. Peter blinked into the darkness, listening to a familiar woman's voice.

"I had to!"

"You told him where we were?" Someone else demanded.

"Of course not! I told him we had Peter."

"What if he tracks the suit?"

"Look, Tony is responsible for that kid. I couldn't let him think…"

"I asked Peter if he could call Stark. The kid said Tony was too busy."

There was a long silence as Peter tried to make sense of it all. Had he said that? Probably. But it was true. Mr. Stark was busy and he hadn't wanted to bother him.

They kept talking, and then there were two fingers pressed against his wrist. "Peter?"

He opened his eyes, jumping a little and realizing he must have dozed off. Sam was sitting beside him, and he put his wrist down, then pricked his finger. Peter flinched, looking down to find Sam holding something...a little black device. "Your blood sugar is still pretty low. Here." He reached for something on the table and it took Peter a moment to recognize a bottle of soda. "Take a drink."

"Oh." Peter muttered, doing as he'd asked. "Thanks."

"How are you feeling?"

Peter looked around. It was a little lighter in there now, and he could see that he was laying on a bed in a room with no windows, but the door was propped open and there was a light on in the other room. "I...where are we?"

"Safe house. Secret safe house. So don't go telling anyone about it, huh?"

"Okay." He rubbed a hand over his face, then glanced down at his shoulder. It was bandaged, and someone had cut away part of his suit.

"You feel okay?"

"I think so."

"Good." Sam took the bottle and placed it on the bedside table. "Natasha called Tony. He wants us to meet him. He's going to take you to the tower and get you checked out.

"I don't need to…"

Sam held up a hand. "Doesn't matter. You're his responsibility and he wants to make sure you're okay."

"I'm…" Peter sighed, dropping his eyes. "I don't...he doesn't want me to be his responsibility." He whispered, cheeks flushing. "He…" He thought about those months of silene and the unreturned calls and how stupid he'd felt...how Mr. Stark had offered him a spot on the Avengers and he'd turned him down and how he'd barely heard from him since. "He's busy." Peter finally managed, refusing to meet Sam's eyes.

Sam took a deep breath, then reached out, patting the top of Peter's hand. "He was really freaked out. When he found out that you'd gotten stabbed, and that you'd disabled your tracker...which you've apparently done before, he was...upset." Peter flinched a bit. "But mostly, he was scared. And look, I'm not saying that I have any idea what it's like to be a teenage superhero. Hell, kid, I didn't know there was such a thing. And god knows I have my issues with Tony Stark. But he's worried about you. And...he really cares about you, kid." He brought a hand up and patted Peter's good shoulder.

In the end, it was Sam that drove him to the agreed-upon meeting spot. Mr. Stark was waiting for him in his own car, and as soon as they'd parked, he was jumping out of the car. Sam nodded to Peter, unlocking the door. "Hey, kid? One question."

"Yeah?"

"That web stuff...does that come out of you?"

Forgetting all about his nerves for a moment, Peter grinned. "No. I make it in chemistry."

"Like...in your high school chemistry class?"

He nodded. "Yeah, when the teacher isn't looking."

Sam snorted, ruffling his hair. "Good to know. See you around kid."

As soon as Peter stepped out of the car, Mr. Stark was there, reaching out and grabbing his good shoulder, not touching his bandaged arm but giving it a close look. After looking him up and down, the man looked past him to Sam, giving an almost reluctant nod, then leading Peter over to his car, an arm around his shoulders.

"Are you alright?" Mr. Stark asked softly, and Peter slouched in his seat.

"I'm fine. I can go home…"

"I already called May and told her you were coming to the tower for suit repairs." He didn't sound angry. Just tired. And Peter closed his eyes, resting his head against the window.

"I'm sorry."

Mr. Stark was quiet for a moment. And then he slowed the car, pulling off the side of the road and parking by the sidewalk. Peter stared out the window, trying to make himself small. Finally, the other man spoke.

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I...I didn't…"

"I know your AI told you to call me. I know that you know how bad it was. So why didn't you just call me?"

"Didn't want to bother you." Peter mumbled, slouched in his seat.

Mr. Stark took a deep breath, then Peter felt his hand on his knee. "Pete? Hey, look at me for a sec."

Peter did, swallowing hard and trying to keep his face neutral. "Yeah?"

"I'm never too busy for you. Okay?"

He lowered his eyes then, eyes getting hot for no apparent reason, but Mr. Stark squeezed his leg. "I'm serious. I know that we...that we had a rough start. And I know that I wasn't there when you needed me. But I should have been. And I'm never too busy for you. Especially not if you're hurt. I'm never going to be upset with you for needing help. Everyone needs help, Pete."

Peter sniffed again and nodded.

"Come here." The man leaned in, reaching his arms out. "I'm not getting the door. This is a hug. We're there. Come on."

Peter leaned his head against Mr. Stark's shoulder, hesitantly lifting his good arm to return the hug, trying to subtly wipe his eyes on his own shoulder, but Mr. Stark just squeezed him, patting his back. "You scared me, kid."

"Sorry." He whispered.

"Don't be sorry. Just call me next time. Okay?" He pulled away, one hand on Peter's shoulder, the other clasping his arm.

Peter nodded. "Okay."

"Alright, Underoos. Let's get you back to the tower."

**Thanks for reading!**


	10. Snow Day

**_Thank you so much for everyone who has been reading and reviewing! I appreciate you guys so much :)_**

_Febufluff: Snow Day (okay, so this one's super fluffy really, but I used the prompt) :)_

Peter jumped a little when May put a hand on his shoulder, blinking awake and staring up at her in worry. Had something happened? Was someone sick? Was he late? His blankets were warm in the freezing apartment, and he huddled under them, rolling over a little more so that he could see his aunt in his dark bedroom. She was smiling, though, and she tucked him in a little more firmly.

"Schools are canceled today. We're supposed to get some bad snowstorms, so no patrolling, okay?"

"Mkay," he muttered. Honestly, all he'd really heard was 'canceled' and that was enough for his sleepy brain to decide to shut back down.

"I'm leaving for work early, and I won't be back until tomorrow. I love you."

"Love you." He was already mostly asleep, but he heard her soft laugh, and felt the press of her lips against his cheek.

"Bye, baby." And then he was dreaming again. Dreaming of being cold and huddling under blankets that were his only hope of warming up. His phone went off at six, and he reached an arm out to snatch it from his bedside table before shutting it off and stuffing it under his pillow. Rolling over, he ignored the vibrating under his pillow to go back to sleep, not bothering to see who was calling him so early.

When he finally woke that Friday morning, it was to find that he'd completely encased himself in his three blankets, knees to his chest, arms crossed like a mummy, and still he was cold. Why was he so cold? He snuggled back under his blankets, searching blindly for his phone which was still connected to his charger, he realized, but wasn't charging. Peter frowned, rolling over and trying to peer more closely, wiggling the charging cord, then braving a hand out of the covers to feel along the wall to make sure it was plugged in. It was.

That's when it hit him. The power was out. Peter groaned, yanking his arm back into his blanket nest. Outside, if he peered his head out and risked frostbite to the nose, he could see a sea of white outside his window. The city was blanketed. And his apartment didn't have power. Checking his phone again, he saw that he had a full charge, and that Ned had been the one to text him earlier, letting him know that there was no school. It was the last day before winter vacation, and really, that would have been more exciting had his power just shut off. Apparently Ned was off to Florida with his parents for the break and wouldn't be back until Christmas. Peter sighed, dropping his face in his still-warm pillow, and wondered if he could hold out until the power came back on.

His bladder quickly vetoed that idea.

Groaning, Peter sat up and swung his legs off the bed, shuddering when his feet touched the floor. His wood floor felt like ice, and he hadn't put socks on that night. He yanked his drawer open, grabbing the first pair of socks he saw and shoving his feet into them. It didn't do a lot of good, but he figured it was better than nothing. With his feet covered, he used the bathroom, then wandered into the kitchen, stomach growling. He'd had spaghetti for dinner with May, and they were just about out of any kind of food you didn't have to cook. He settled for a nearly empty package of cookies, scarfing down the last five, then searching the fridge. They had a gallon of milk and some cheese left, along with a carton of eggs, but she'd planned on going to the grocery that weekend.

The cabinets were bare except for a few cans of beans, some canned vegetables, and a box of pasta. He searched all of them, wondering why he had never mentioned his metabolism to May. But of course he knew the answer to that. They had enough financial troubles as it was. No way he was going to add to them by telling her that he had to eat twice as much as normal people. He was usually fine anyway, eating just a little more at home and using his allowance to buy extra food while he was out. But he doubted anywhere would be open for a while, especially anything nearby if the power was out.

Giving up on food for the moment, he went back to his bedroom and curled up under the blankets, trying to get some of that warmth back. His bed was cold, though. Knees to his chest, he pulled the blankets up over his head and shivered. Then, when he still couldn't get warm, he grabbed his suit from his backpack, pulling it on over his pajama pants and t-shirt and asked Karen to turn on his heater.

The knock on his front door jolted him out of sleep, and Peter sat up straight, yanking his mask off, then slammed a hand onto his chest, slithering out of this suit and kicking it under his bed. Still dressed in only his pajamas, he headed for the front door, figuring it was one of his neighbors asking if his power was out too. A quick glance at the clock told him that it was almost one, and his stomach gave a painful clench as the cold air seeped into his clothes. All he wanted was to get back into his suit and turn the heater up, but he figured he would see who was banging on his front door first.

He pulled it open, not checking to see who exactly was knocking on his front door, then froze when he found himself face to face with Tony Stark. The man looked him up and down, lifting his eyebrow, and Peter had to fight the urge to shut the door in the man's face and get some real clothes on. As it was, he just crossed his arms uncomfortably, hoping to preserve some of his body heat while also trying to stop Mr. Stark from seeing the science pun on his old pajama shirt.

"Um...hi."

"Hi yourself, kid. You gonna invite me in or you want to chat in the hallway?"

It took Peter a minute, but he finally nodded, stepping back. "Yeah, uh...of course. Come in." He kept his arms crossed, shivering a little, and Mr. Stark, dressed in a coat and scarf, stepped into his apartment. He shut the door behind the man, noticing that it was equally cold in the hallway. All the other doors were shut, and he wondered if his neighbors had gone elsewhere until the power came back.

He hadn't seen Mr. Stark in a while, and he watched as the man took in the blank microwave screen and oven clock, eyes narrowed as if he was solving some kind of puzzle.

"I knew teenagers liked to sleep in but I was sure you'd be up by now." He said it almost like an apology.

Peter shrugged. He was still sleepy, and the longer he stood there, the more tired he got, his gnawing hunger moved to the back-burner. Mr. Stark was watching him closely, eyes narrow like Peter was a puzzle.

"When did your power go out?"

"Uh...this morning," Peter told him, blinking a few times to keep his eyes open.

"Where's May?"

"Work."

The man hummed under his breath, giving the apartment another once over. "Alright. Come on."

"What?" Peter asked, a little irritated with the cryptic conversation. Why was Mr. Stark even there?

"Get dressed, kid. We'll head back to the tower."

"Didn't you sell the tower?"

"Eh. Bought it back. Thought I could use a base in the city. And Pepper was kind of attached." Mr. Stark gave a careless shrug. "Lucky for you, it has power. Come on, kid. Chop chop. Get dressed and we'll go."

Peter hesitated for a second, then shook his head, eyes too heavy to keep open much longer. "That's okay, Mr. Stark. I'm just going to…" His words trailed off, knees buckling, and then Mr. Stark was holding him by his shoulders.

"Woah...hey, Pete?" The man called, holding him up, and Peter blinked, shivering in the cold. "Kid, what's wrong? You sick?"

"Sick?" Peter repeated, then shook his head. But Mr. Stark was already leading him to the sofa, pushing him down, then hesitating before grabbing a blanket from the back of the sofa and draping it over him.

"Talk to me, kid. What's going on? You get hurt? Karen didn't report anything."

"'M not hurt."

"Then what's with the...hey!" The man patted his cheek none too gently and Peter realized he must have been dozing off again.

"I'm tired."

"Yep. Got that." He wrapped the blanket more firmly around Peter, then pulled his glasses out of his pocket and put them on. "Friday? What's wrong with him."

Peter didn't hear Friday reply, if she even did, but the next thing he knew, Mr. Stark was standing and he heard him rummaging in the kitchen. Was Mr. Stark hungry? They didn't have anything. Not really...not anything that they could eat without cooking. "The power's out, Mr. Stark." He told him, raising his voice a little and dropping his head against the back of the sofa. The blanket was warm...he wanted to be warm again. Maybe he could put the suit back on.

"Geez, kid, don't you have any food?" He sounded concerned, and despite his exhaustion, Peter felt his face flush.

"May's going to the grocery tomorrow." There was silence for a moment, and then Mr. Stark was back, pulling him to his feet. Before he could speak, though, Peter pulled away. "Why are you here?" He asked, voice a little less friendly than would be polite. Any other time, he would have apologized immediately. Instead, he was fighting sleep again, and for a moment, Mr. Stark just stared at him, looking baffled.

"I saw that you were in the suit for a few hours...with the heater on. In the same spot." The man's voice was just as baffled as his face, but that wasn't what Peter really cared about. Sure, it was kind of weird that the man had just shown up and was apparently kidnapping him or something, but all he really cared about was going back to sleep, so he tried to pull away again, only for his knees to give and for Mr. Stark to catch him again.

"Going back to bed…."

"Nope. Not here, you're not, Spider-cicle. Come on." Then, bafflingly, he was being led to his room where the bed was.

"Bed," Peter insisted again, but Mr. Stark kept a firm hand on his upper arm and grabbed something from his closet...a hoodie. After pulling that over Peter's head and pulling the hood up, he sat Peter down on the bed, keeping a grip on his arm as he grabbed a pair of shoes from under his bed...and the suit.

"Why is this under the bed?"

"Surprised me," was all Peter had the energy to say, and Mr. Stark sighed, tossing it, along with his mask, onto the bed before, even more surprisingly than his actual presence, he pushed Peter's feet into the shoes carefully, not scraping them against his ankle or tying them too tight, then pulled Peter back to his feet.

"Come on. Stay awake, Underoos. We've got places to be, and those places are warmer than this apartment, I promise. Plus there's food." He was trying to make his voice enticing, but Peter just stumbled along after him, still somewhat surprised by both his presence and his arm around his shoulders. Still, he followed the man into the hallway, and then out the front door of the building which was, somehow, only a little colder than his apartment. Before he knew it, he was lifted into a seat, the door shutting behind him, and as soon as another door was shut, heat was being blasted at him.

He must have slept, then, because one second they were pulling away from the sidewalk in front of his apartment building and the next, his door was open again and he was being tugged to his feet, an arm around his shoulders leading him to an elevator, then to a sofa, and then...then he was warm. Really, truly warm. He let out a breath, curling up happily, ignoring the strange noise that took a moment to register in his ears.

"Did you just...did the kid just purr?" Mr. Stark asked, as if he couldn't decide if he was amused or concerned.

"Some species of spider have been known to purr under certain circumstances." Another voice answered, and a hand rested on his head.

"Okay. Well...not gonna lie, Pete, that's a little weird." The voice was full on amused then, and something else. Maybe fond. Maybe happy. Whatever it was, Peter was warm so he just snuggled down into the blankets and the noise happened again. Mr. Stark laughed, a sound Peter tried to remember if he'd ever really heard. Not a chuckle or a snort, like the man had done before. A full on laugh. "Alright, kid. You get an hour, and then you're eating. Okay?"

When Peter opened his eyes again, he wasn't exactly sure where he was. He'd gone back to bed, he remembered that much. And he'd been curled up under all of his blankets. Because...because the power was out. He'd had some kind of weird dream about Mr. Stark and now, he found himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, soft light filtering in through white curtains. He was covered in something warm...something so delightfully warm that all he wanted to do was roll up in it. But his stomach was demanding food, and his head was just a little spinny, a sign that he'd better eat something.

"There he is. How about some food for the Spiderling?"

The voice made Peter jolt upright, and he spun around, eyes wide, before it registered as familiar. The man standing behind the sofa had taken half a step back, eyebrows raised, and after he took a moment to study Peter, he lifted a hand in mock surrender. "Easy, Spider. I come bearing flies." He was smiling, amusement warring with concern on his face, and Peter stared at him for a moment more, then his eyes darted down to the hand that hadn't been lifted. On the plate he was holding was an entire plate piled with lasagna, a piece of garlic bread sitting off to the side, and his stomach growled so loudly that he was sure Mr. Stark heard it. Instead of laughing, though, the man just came around the sofa and handed him the plate, then walked back into the kitchen. Peter didn't turn to see where he was going, instead doing his best to eat quickly without choking himself.

A glass of something dark and fizzy was placed on the table in front of him after a moment, and Mr. Stark sat on the sofa, grabbing the remote and apparently giving him just a modicum of privacy to scarf down his lunch. Or dinner. He really had no idea what time it was but was too busy eating to ask. Well-aware of the billionaire beside him, he tried to at least chew with his mouth closed and swallow before taking another bite, but his body was demanding food and he wasn't really able to say no with the food right in front of him.

The TV was showing the news, and Mr. Stark turned it up a little, the coverage focusing on the snow that had made the roads unsafe and that continued to fall. "Wait…" Peter asked, turning to Mr. Stark and praying he didn't have pasta sauce on his mouth. "Didn't we drive here?"

"Well, we didn't fly." The man shrugged, but his voice was almost gentle when he went on. "I have a four wheel drive. All terrain. And I took it pretty slow."

"Oh…"

"Penny for your thoughts? Unless you're still hungry, in which case, a penny for you to keep eating."

"You're a billionaire and all you're going to give me is a penny?" The words slipped out, and Peter wondered if his filter was malfunctioning when Mr. Stark laughed again

"Fine. A thousand dollars for you to keep eating. Cash or check?" Peter started to stammer out an apology, but the man was grinning, and he lifted a hand to ruffle Peter's hair with a familiarity that he'd never shown before. "Eat. There's more in the kitchen. We can talk after." Then, as if he spent every Friday sitting on the couch with some nobody kid from Queens, he turned back to the news and let Peter eat unobserved.

Well, he felt unobserved. Peter doubted that he actually was.

When he was done, Mr. Stark grabbed his plate before he could even protest, then brought it back, full of a smaller portion of lasagna and more bread. He wanted to insist that he was fine, but his stomach was still growling and so, with a resigned flush, Peter began eating again.

He was nearly done when Mr. Stark spoke, voice gentler than before. "Does your aunt know?"

"That I'm Spiderman?" Peter asked, using the paper towel he'd been giving to self-consciously wipe his face. "Yeah. Remember, she…"

Mr. Stark waved a hand. "That you have to eat more than other people."

Peter was grateful that he hadn't said 'normal' people, but he still found himself blushing. "I...I mean, she…" He trailed off, lowering his eyes.

"So no."

"It's...it's not that I...it doesn't matter. She doesn't need to know…"

"I'd say she does, especially when you're left stranded in an apartment with no power and nothing to eat all day."

"She didn't know the power was going to go off," Peter defended, and Mr. Stark lifted his hands.

"I know that, kid. I didn't think she did do it on purpose. But you were about to go into hibernation mode and you hadn't eaten anything since the night before."

"I had breakfast," Peter muttered uncomfortably. The man lifted his eyebrows, obviously inviting Peter to go on. "There were cookies…"

"Why wouldn't you tell her?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it, dropping his eyes to his mostly empty plate. He was almost full, but not quite, so he just shrugged and took another bite of bread. He didn't want to have this conversation. He didn't want to discuss this with the billionaire sitting beside him. So he kept his mouth shut, just focusing on his food.

Mr. Stark was quiet beside him, and Peter kept waiting for him to ask more questions or insist they call May. Instead, he waited for Peter to finish eating, then took the plate again. Peter let him take it to the kitchen, trying to figure out how he was going to get back to his apartment. In the end, he just stood, brushing his hands off on his pajama pants a little self-consciously. "So, um...thank you. For, uh...lunch. But I should probably head home."

Mr. Stark crossed his arms, lifting an eyebrow and looking Peter up and down. "Home? To the apartment with no food and no heat?"

Peter felt his cheeks redden. "May's going to be home tomorrow afternoon. I'll be fine."

"You'd really rather go back to an apartment without food or power than stay here tonight?" The man sounded genuinely baffled, and Peter shrugged.

"I just...I know you're probably busy and I…" Peter thought back to all those phone calls that had been ignored and the way he'd taken Peter's suit. And yeah, he'd apologized, but it was obvious that he didn't really want anything to do with him. "Why'd you come get me?"

Something passed over Mr. Stark's face...something sad, but just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, and the man softened a little. "Karen alerted me that you were sleeping in the suit. I was…" He hesitated before going on. "I was worried."

"Why?"

"Because I got to your apartment and you were about to pass out, Peter!"

"But I'm not your…" Peter cut himself off, dropping his eyes and crossing his arms. He just wanted to go home. He'd already given up on any kind of relationship with Mr. Stark. This was only going to make it harder. He had his suit, and he had his friends. He had May and his memories of Ben. He didn't need anything else. "I turned down your offer," he finished lamely, not wanting to hurt Mr. Stark's feelings or make him angry.

For a moment, the man's face was unreadable. "You think that because you turned down my offer to join the Avengers, that I'd let you freeze to death in your apartment?"

"I wouldn't have frozen to death," Peter muttered.

"Yeah, the fact that you're not answering my question concerns me." Mr. Stark moved over to his side, putting a hand on Peter's shoulder and guiding him to sit back down. Peter let himself be pushed down, and Mr. Stark, in a strangely paternal gesture, pulled the blanket back over his lap. "Look...kid...Peter...I kind of suck at this." He admitted, voice soft. "In case you haven't noticed. But...kid, I wasn't going to let you stay in an apartment without heat in the middle of a snowstorm."

Peter didn't look at him, wouldn't let himself lift his eyes, until Mr. Stark reached out, a hand under his chin tilting his head up."

"I know we had a rough start. And that...it's partly my fault. No, it's mostly my fault. And I think we could have a good thing here." Peter realized with a start that Mr. Stark seemed almost nervous. "What I'm trying to say, kid, is...look, I get why you turned me down. That was a good move. You should stick to the ground for a little while. Get some training under your belt. But I didn't want you to think just because you aren't an Avenger that I don't want...that I don't want to be your…" He waved a hand, the gesture almost careless but not quite. "Super hero mentor or whatever. Because I do. It's just...there's been a lot going on. But I'm here for you kid. I wasn't before, but I'm here now. Whatever you need, okay?"

Peter had no idea if he believed that...if he really trusted it. But Mr. Stark's face was sincere, his smile a little sheepish but genuine. "Okay," Peter murmured, still unsure.

Mr. Stark seemed to understand, nodding and patting Peter's shoulder. "Alright, kid. I've got you fed and warmed up. How about I give you a tour of the lab since we're going to be stuck here for a little while?" The man gestured at the window, and Peter turned to look, surprised when he saw huge flakes of snow still falling from the sky. "What do you think?" Mr. Stark prompted, and Peter gave a little smile, nodding and hoping.

"Okay."

_**Thank you for reading! **_


	11. Hearing Loss

**_A bit of a short one, but I hope you enjoy day 15! _**

_Hearing Loss_

Peter sat in the dark room, eyes wide open as he stared at the wall across from his cot. He shivered, bringing his knees to his chest, the old threadbare blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He guessed it had been nice of them to throw him a blanket. A little less nice of them to throw him in a cell and drug him, but with the blanket, he was almost warm. Kind of.

Mr. Stark would come. Or...someone. One of the Avengers. Someone would come. There had been a mission...it was all a little fuzzy, but he remembered a mission. He remembered the Avengers on the streets of New York, and robots and...and an explosion. He'd been talking to Mr. Stark on the comms and then...then an explosion. A fire. And then...someone stabbing him in the neck with something and...and...he struggled to remember as he sat with his back to a wall, the other wall only a few feet away.

The door was reinforced. He'd found that out as soon as he'd woken up and had stumbled over to it in the dark, grabbing at it with weak, uncoordinated hands that had refused to grip or stick to anything. Finally, though, he'd managed to shove at the metal, only to find out it was stuck tight, and no amount of pushing or punching made a dent.

The cell was designed for people like him. Enhanced people. That, at least, gave him some idea of where he was, and he didn't like it.

But that wasn't the worst part. Not that or the cold or the ever-present darkness in his tiny room that was only five steps by five steps with the bed he was sitting on and a toilet in the other corner. The worst part was the silence.

Peter couldn't hear. He couldn't hear his own footsteps as he paced or the sound his knuckles made when they slammed into the metal door over and over, or the sound of his own voice when he screamed, head thrown back, tears streaming down his face, desperate just to hear something. Anything. He couldn't hear his own heartbeat anymore, or the footsteps of anyone nearby, or the tiny metal slot in the door opening three times a day with meager portions of food that he inhaled, too starving to be proud.

When he'd first woken up in the tiny, dark room with barely enough light coming in from under the metal door to see, he'd thought the silence had been a result of the explosion. He'd been sure that it would go away, telling himself over and over not to panic. That he was okay. That he was an Avenger and that he'd get out of this. Then, when the door hadn't even budged under his full strength, he'd told himself that the Avengers would come. They had to. Mr. Stark would never abandon him.

There had been an explosion. He remembered an explosion. And the feeling of hitting the ground, and a high pitched ringing in his ears that faded when someone had plunged a needle into his neck. Where had the others been? He couldn't remember. His job had been to set up a perimeter...but he couldn't remember if he'd done it.

Peter thought it had been three days, but it was impossible to tell. At first, he'd woken up and fallen asleep so many times, and the light under the door never changed. He tried to count by meals. Tried to keep track that way. But he had no way to track the time before he'd woken up for good. He thought it had been three days since that, but he wasn't sure.

He stood up, pacing in the dark. It was all he could do. Pace and listen to his senses and try not to cry and try to remember. Try to remember the events leading up to the explosion and the sound of Mr. Stark's voice asking him to...to do something. To get clear. To...to be careful? No matter how he searched his memory, he couldn't quite piece it together. Hands pressed to the metal door, he stopped his pacing and rested his forehead against the cold metal, straining to listen. Trying so hard to hear anything...anything at all. But there was nothing. Even the high pitched ringing that had been his constant companion at first was gone, leaving a silence so heavy that Peter worried it would never be broken.

How long would he be stuck here in the dark?

Peter slammed his hands against the door one more time, throwing his head back and screaming. "Help!" The word tore out of his throat and he beat his hands against the metal, not sure if the word was coming out right or not. It didn't matter. He didn't care. He just screamed and screamed and until his throat was raw and his hands were bleeding.

And then, when his voice refused to work anymore and his hands throbbed and refused to clench into fists anymore, he dropped to the ground, back against the wall, tears running down his cheeks.

What if no one came? What if he never saw Mr. Stark again?

He eventually crawled back to the bed, pulling the blanket over him and turning to stare at the wall. And that's where he stayed.

When he felt the scrape of the metal tray in the slot through his hand pressed to the wall he'd crawl out of bed and eat, then crawl back into bed. Sometimes, he would roll over and press his hand to the floor, trying to feel for the vibrations of footsteps, but it rarely worked...only when he happened to catch someone walking right up to his door. And no matter how loudly or for how long he screamed, no one ever opened the door.

He didn't know how much time passed before he gave up. Before he stopped screaming and stopped staring around the room, anxious to know what was happening now that he'd lost one of his senses. He didn't need to know, he realized, because nothing was happening. No one was going to open the door. No one was coming for him.

Peter didn't know how much time passed before the hand touched his arm. He'd eaten once that day...or maybe he'd just slept all day and eaten once that night. He no longer had any way to track the passing time. When fingers brushed against the blanket covering him, he jerked hard, flinching away and closing his eyes. He didn't know what this new development was, or why these people suddenly wanted to communicate with him, but he wanted no part of it. Too weak to even sit up, he just curled up into an even tighter ball, eyes shut tight. The hand shook his shoulder, but he just kept as still as he could. He couldn't take it. Couldn't take any of it anymore. He'd been in the dark for what felt like so too long and he couldn't hear anything and he didn't even know if anyone was coming for him.

The hand pulled hard on his shoulder then, rolling him over onto his back, and another hand pressed against his cheek. That's when he opened his eyes, and found himself face to face with Mr. Stark.

His jaw dropped, lips trembling as he saw the man standing over him, and then he shoved himself upright, grabbing desperately at the man and using his fingers balled in his shirt to pull himself up, a sob escaping before he'd even managed to do it. Mr. Stark grabbed him, arms tight around his back, and he could feel the man's voice through his chest but he couldn't hear him! Mr. Stark pulled away after a moment, and Peter flinched at the light from the open door. The door was open! Mr. Stark had come for him!

The older man put both hands on Peter's face, mouth moving, but Peter couldn't hear him...couldn't hear anything. Couldn't hear his heartbeat or the blood rushing through his own veins or the way Mr. Stark's joints would pop sometimes when he crouched or moved his shoulder in a certain way. The man kept speaking, then narrowed his eyes, tapping Peter's cheek gently, but Peter just closed his eyes, tears running down his cheeks. "I can't." He had no idea how loudly he said it, but his throat ached and his head hurt and his hands shook at his sides. "I can't hear anything."

Mr. Stark pulled him into his arms again, a hand pressed against the back of his head once more, his grip just as desperate as Peter's. After a moment, though, he tapped his finger on Peter's back, and it took Peter a moment, but he quickly caught on. "You're okay. You're okay. You're okay. I'm here. I'm here. I'm here." Over and over he tapped it until Peter nodded, more tears falling and soaking Mr. Stark's shirt.

"Scared." Peter answered, tapping his own finger on Mr. Stark's back. "Scared scared scared scared scared."

Mr. Stark ran his fingers through Peter's hair, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. "I'm here. I'm here. I'm here." His hand on Peter's back was firm and reassuring, and he tapped the message over and over until Peter felt his heart slow just a little, shoulders losing some of their tension.

"Team? Team?" He asked, exhausted brain struggling to get all the letters just right.

Mr. Stark nodded. "Here. Waiting. All here."

He pulled away then, cupping Peter's cheek in his own and looking him up and down for a moment before seeming satisfied. Reaching down, he grabbed a cup that must have come from the last meal try and held it out to Peter. He downed the water he'd ignored before, suddenly a lot more invested in surviving. Mr. Stark kept a hand on his arm, and once he'd swallowed all of the water, the man's finger began to tap on his arm once more. "Ready?"

Peter nodded, lurching to his feet, anxious to be out of this hellhole once and for all. Mr. Stark jumped up, wrapping an arm around him, and together, they limped through the open door.

_**Thank you for reading!**_


	12. Brain Damage

_**Thank you so much to everyone who has read and reviewed! I appreciate all of you so much! **_

Brain Damage

Peter didn't tell Mr. Stark. He didn't think he needed to. Everything was fine. The man worried enough and there was no reason to make him worry even more over nothing. Because it was nothing. No big deal. The man was still recovering from three months ago when Peter had been stabbed in the stomach and had been unconscious in the medby for nearly a week. To be fair, that stab wound hadn't even been his fault. Not really. He'd been mugged on his way home from school, his reaction time just a little too slow to help him evade the knife that had been stuck into his stomach.

And he'd called for help! He'd called Mr. Stark on his phone right away, apparently staying on the line until he'd passed out, not that Mr. Stark has wanted to talk about that part. Ever. The man had sat at his side for six days, his hand gripping Peter's, and throughout the rest of the month, Peter had been banned from patrol. Mr. Stark had wanted to make it longer, but Helen had insisted he was fully recovered.

Mr. Stark had bought them an apartment in a safer neighborhood.

It had been almost a year since Titan...since Peter had followed Mr. Stark into outer space and they'd managed to get the infinity gauntlet away from the crazy purple monster guy that Peter did his best never to think about. A year since Thanos had nearly decimated half of the universe's population, only to be killed by his blue daughter after being distracted for a while by Mr. Stark and the Guardians, plus Peter who had done his best to get the gauntlet off his hand. And it had worked. It was a victory that had come so close to being a tragedy that Peter could barely stomach the thought of it.

He'd thought that the tragedies were over. He'd lost his parents, then Ben. He had Mr. Stark now, and Pepper and Rhodey and even some of the Avengers! He was graduating from high school and had been accepted to MIT, and things were looking up. He would take some time off from Spiderman and focus on being a college student, at Mr. Stark's insistence. MJ was going to a school in New York, and they'd agreed to try long distance, if only for a little while. MIT wasn't so far away, not when Mr. Stark had offered them the use of his private jet whenever they wanted it. Everything was going so well…

And then May collapsed at work.

Peter didn't tell Mr. Stark when he spent a full weekend at the hospital holding his aunt's hand, or when the doctor came out with the diagnosis that would require more tests and scans and an entire plastic bag of medicines. He didn't tell him when May started to forget things, like where she'd left her keys or their address or the name of their favorite Thai place. He didn't tell him when he withdrew his acceptance from MIT, now resigned to the fact that he couldn't leave. Not now. Not when May needed him.

The doctors gave her eight months, max. It was a number Peter didn't know how to make sense of. Eight months. It was only March...so just before Christmas. He had until November. Thanksgiving. If he was lucky, he'd get one more Thanksgiving with her. They'd already had their last Christmas. Their last New Year. He was going to be eighteen...if they were lucky, they'd each get one more birthday together. And then, at the age of eighteen, he would lose everything he had left.

He spent every weekend with her, the two of them talking and being together, with him driving them around now that May wasn't able to. She'd quit her job. They didn't have to pay for the apartment since Mr. Stark had given it to them, so, Peter thought, when horrible practicality came to mind, he'd have a place to live. He had it so much better than some others, he reminded himself. He would have a place to live. He could get a job. Mr. Stark might even hire him.

But he still couldn't bring himself to tell Mr. Stark. He didn't know if he could stand to see the sadness and pity in his eyes. Didn't know if he could stand the arms that would wrap around him and the assurances that everything would be okay. So he continued to patrol in the evenings, just enough to keep Mr. Stark from catching on that something was wrong, and, somehow, it took him until April to remember what he'd almost forgotten.

Doctor Strange. The Doctor bit of his name, as Peter had learned on their trip to space, wasn't made up. He was a doctor. Had been a doctor. A neurosurgeon. Thankfully, finding the weird building not all that far from Central Park hadn't been that hard. It was knocking on the front door that was hard. It was bringing himself to speak aloud the words no one but doctors had said yet.

May was dying. His last living relative was dying and he was only seventeen and he had no idea how to cope with this.

A man Peter didn't recognize opened the door, giving him a strange, unsure look. "Can I help you?"

"Hi...um...I'm here to see Doctor Strange. Uh...Doctor Stephen Strange. I'm...I'm Peter. We...we went to, uh…". Peter hesitated, then pointed at the sky, as if that would clear anything up. After a moment, surprisingly enough, the man nodded, stepping back and ushering Peter inside.

He didn't touch anything. Didn't dare. The room was full of what looked like magical artifacts and he kept his hands clasped behind him, eyes downcast, until he heard footsteps on the stairs, and Doctor Stephen Strange descended into the room, his red cloak billowing in wind that didn't exist.

"Ah. Stark's ward." The man greeted dryly with a nod, although he didn't seem unfriendly, exactly. But the words hit too close to home. Ward. That's what he would be. Well, not technically, since he'd be an adult. But that's what he'd feel like. The man's eyes narrowed as Peter blinked back the heat forming in his eyes, softening just a fraction. "Can I help you?"

"Doctor Strange, I...I need…". He stammered for a moment, but swallowed hard, doing his best to meet the man's eyes. "I need a favor. Please."

"Alright." The man stretched the word out, a slight nod Peter's only signal to go on.

"My aunt...she has a brain tumor. And she's all...she's the only family…". He swallowed back the rest of his words along with his tears, and the doctor nodded a little.

"Have you spoken to Tony about this?"

Peter shook his head. "I just...I don't know what he can do. But they said she only has eight...no….seven more months." He adjusted the count in his mind. It was almost April. They'd already spent one of their precious months. "Please...if you could just look…"

Doctor Strange moved over to the sofa, gesturing for Peter to join him, and Peter did. He was a little bewildered as he sat down, and then a glass of water was being pressed into his hand. "Drink," the man ordered, and Peter did. Then there was a granola bar and he stared at it for a moment before the man gestured at it. "Eat."

"What?"

"You look like you haven't been eating. Eat."

"But my aunt…"

"Where is she?"

"At home." It was Saturday, and ever since May had been forced to quit her job, she'd spent most days alone, with Peter coming home after school and staying home on weekends to be with her. She insisted he didn't want him giving up on his own life...that she didn't want him to stop patrolling or spending time with his friends to be with her all the time, but he did anyway. He couldn't stop. Couldn't give up any of their precious, limited time.

His brain refused to think much about after. How could he possibly process that? How could he ever face life without May?

"We'll bring her here and I'll run some tests."

Peter felt his eyes fly open and he stared at Doctor Strange with so much home it nearly choked him. "Really?"

The man gave him a strange look. "Yes. Of course. Tell me your address and we can bring her here."

Apparently, Doctor Strange's idea was to make a portal and have Peter fetch his aunt that way. She was having a bad day, her eyes focusing and unfocusing at random, and when she first saw Peter, her brow furrowed in a confusion that made his chest ache. But he led her to the sanctum anyway, her not even questioning the portal, and once Doctor Strange hd led her into a different room, Peter's legs gave out and he dropped onto the sofa once more.

He couldn't do this. Her bad days had been getting more and more frequent and it had only been a month. What would she be like in two months? In five? By November.

Peter shouldn't have been surprised by Mr. Stark's appearance. The man always found out everything. Still, Peter didn't look up as he sat down beside him, a heavy hand landing on his shoulder, then wrapping around him as silent tears ran down his face. He was too tired to sob anymore. Too tired to lose it and scream into pillows and beg a god his aunt had prayed to to spare her life...that it wasn't fair! That she was such a good, kind person and that she didn't deserve this. But he did let himself be pulled, lips against his hair for a long moment.

"Oh, Pete…" He whispered, sounding close to tears himself. "You should have told me, buddy." It wasn't a reprimand, though. Peter didn't think he could handle a reprimand. He didn't answer, just hid his face on Tony's shoulder and cried, the silent tears soaking into the man's shirt. He guessed Doctor Strange had called Mr. Stark, which, he supposed, made sense. The wizard did think he was Mr. Stark's ward for some reason. "It's going to be okay, Pete."

Peter shook his head. "They said she probably wouldn't even make it to Christmas," he whispered, eyes shut, too exhausted to even lift his head. Suddenly something was covering him, and Mr. Stark shifted in his seat, pulling on Peter until he put his legs up on the sofa, and something moved on top of him, tucking itself around him. Too curious to let it go, he opened his eyes and found that Cloaky was acting as his blanket. "Thanks." He patted the back of the cloak's collar, and Mr. Stark gave a strained chuckle.

"They didn't have the best neuroscientist in the world on call. She's in the best possible hands. It was a good idea to find him." Mr. Stark ran a hand through Peter's hair, squeezing his hand and rubbing his thumb back and forth over Peter's knuckles.

"What if he can't help her?"

"Then I'm still going to be right here. I've got you, Pete. It's going to be okay."

He sniffed, balling up one hand in the cloak's soft fabric, and it seemed to tighten around him, like it was trying to give him a hug. "I withdrew from MIT. I couldn't...not with her so sick…"

"I get it, buddy. It's okay. We can worry about college later. You can take a year off. It won't hurt anything."

Peter wanted to tell Mr. Stark that he couldn't lose May...that she was all he had left. But it was blatantly untrue. Of course he could lose May because he'd lost everyone else. When had the universe ever shown mercy on him? Mr. Stark tightened his arms once more, rocking him a little, and together, they waited for Doctor Strange to deliver the news, good or bad.

**Thank you for reading!**


	13. Mind Games

**_So this one wasn't going to happen but I had a weird dream and time to write at work so…..here you go :) I hope you enjoy! _**

_Mind games_

Peter started at the street sign, blinking as the letters moved around into numbers he couldn't understand. Did that say 37th or 65th? Or 58th? Was he close to Queens boulevard? He lived...close to there? Right? As if in a dream, he stumbled away from the sign, an anxiety buzzing deep in his chest. Something was wrong. He was late and May was going to be so worried. Lifting his wrist, he stared at the watch that Mr. Stark had given him.

The numbers danced in front of his eyes and he couldn't remember what they meant...or why he was staring at them. Dropping his arm, he stumbled forward, crying out when something slammed into his side, sending him flying, and he landed hard on his side in the street. For a moment, all he could hear was ringing in his ears, and blood dripped from his chin.

Groaning, he forced himself into a sitting position and swayed as someone slammed on their horn, the sound making his head hurt even more than it already had. "What the hell, kid?" Someone shouted, and approaching footsteps were the only warning he got before a hand gripped his shoulder. "Kid?"

"Ben?" He asked, trying to wave away the hand. Was Ben here? No...no, this wasn't...no…that man had made him see Ben but Ben was gone. Now...now he had May and May was going to be so worried. Had... had that man hurt May? Where was May?

"What are you on, kid?" The guy holding his shoulder asked, sounding more concerned than before, but Peter lurched to his feet.

Light. There had been light. A flash of light and then...he'd been on his way home. He remembered that much. And he'd been walking and then…

Doctor Strange? Did he need Doctor Strange? Or had he run into Doctor Strange? What had the light been? The guy had made light and then...then Peter had been lost.

He was lost? Where was he?

It was dark outside. When had it gotten dark outside?

Peter stumbled away from the man, staggering back toward the street sign. Where was he? Which street? He was supposed to be in Queens. Was he in Queens?

Something buzzed. Bee? Waving a hand, he groaned when that threw him off balance. He was bleeding...his hand and arm were bleeding and when he brought a hand to his face, there was blood there too. His head throbbed and his right ankle was threatening to give but he felt like he was in a dream. Like the whole world was fuzzy, like he was looking at it through a fog and none of it was real.

He could head water. Was he supposed to hear water. The world seemed too dark and his feet weren't cooperating as he tried to move. He had to get home. He had to...had to…

There was buzzing again, and the honking of horns, and yelling somewhere in the background. The world was far away and none of this mattered, except May was worried. She was worried about...about the news. There had been a story, he remembered. A story about people who had died. Or...or wandered into tragic or off of bridges and something about dreams. Hallucinations. Magic?

Had he seen Doctor Strange earlier. He'd been on his way home from school. He was lost. How had he gotten lost? He'd grown up here. The frustration that rose in his chest was muted but still there, right under the fear. Mostly fear for May. Was he the reason why she was worried?

Was she worried about the dreams?

Was she worried about magic? Something with magic had happened...that's why he'd wanted Doctor Strange. Peter blinked hard, trying to focus, a seemingly impossible task. He wanted Doctor Strange because magic had...something. Something with magic. Something with dreams.

He followed the sound of water, his thoughts slipping away as quickly as they'd come. He was lost. May was worried. He had to...to find her.

There was a car. Another car. And he was walking...toward the water, he reminded himself. Water was important and then there was the screech of tires and breaks and he turned dumbly to find that he was in the middle of the street. How…

There was buzzing. His leg was buzzing.

Slapping at the fly on his leg he continued forward, feet tangling together, ankle burning but holding his weight for the moment. His head hurt and there were flies or...or bees on his leg. Would bees sting him?

He could hear water.

Would water lead him home?

Peter continued forward, and the buzzing continued until his ankle finally gave, throwing him to the ground. He was under a bridge. He could hear water and cars...and he was shaking but he didn't know why. Coughing and flinching when that made his side hurt, he smacked at the bee again, only to pause.

Phone. He had a phone.

Peter reached into his pocket and pulled the thing out. There were letters on the front but they were moving around and he wasn't in Queens...or was he? Didn't he live in Queens? But...but he went to school in Midtown.

He dropped the phone and watched the glass make a spiderweb. Spider...wasn't he a spider? Or...man?

Peter's head swam and he watched the top of the bridge go in and out of focus, like a bad camera. Bad...bad lens. Or bad focus. You focus with a camera but he couldn't...couldn't focus.

Hadn't he seen Ben earlier?

No. No, Ben was gone. What time was it? He lifted his arm to check but the numbers swirled and he tried to stand but his ankle wouldn't take his weight.

A car stopped, brakes screeching. He was on the sidewalk. He wasn't in the road. Why would they stop?

"Peter!" A man called, dropping to his knees at Peter's side. Was this a dream? "Where the hell have you been? What are you doing?" He rubbed his hands up and down Peter's bare arms, then yanked his own jacket off and struggled to put it on Peter, which was strange because he wasn't cold.

"Was...was Ben here?" He asked, watching as Mr. Stark faded away, then came back into focus. A hand gingerly touched his cheek, and the man shook his head.

"No...no, buddy. It's Tony. Hey…". He cupped the back of Peter's neck. "Look at me, Pete."

Hadn't he been? Then Peter dragged his eyes back to Mr. Stark and realized he'd been looking at the bridge again. "I'm lost...May...she's going to worry…"

"You're lost?" Mr. Stark repeated, and Peter felt his eyes inexplicably heating up.

"I think she's worried. But I was...I was...dreaming...I…". He trailed off, the reason for his tears gone before they managed to spill over.

"Okay. That's okay, kiddo. Why don't I get you home?" An arm went around him, and Peter tried to stand but his ankle gave, making his cry out in pain that seemed somehow muted...too far away. Mr. Stark gripped him more tightly than before, holding all his weight. "Are you hurt?"

"I was walking home...I got lost."

"Okay. Okay…". Mr. Stark repeated the word, not sounding okay. Still, Peter hobbled to the car and Mr. Stark eases him into the passenger's side, buckling his seat belt, then shutting the door.

"Water?" Peter asked, head rolling to the side to look at Mr. Stark. Were they near water? He needed water...water was good.

"Here." Mr. Stark grabbed a bottle from the cup holder and opened it, holding it to Peter's mouth and letting him drink. It tasted a little like blood but the cool liquid felt so good on his throat. "It's almost one in the morning, Pete. Have you been walking around this whole time?"

Was that why he wanted water so bad?

"I thought Ben was...Ben was here?"

"No, buddy. He wasn't here." Mr. Stark murmured, reaching over and squeezing his arm as he took the water away. "Did you take something? Or...or smoke something? Inhale any kind of powder?" The words were all kind and gentle but Peter wasn't sure what any of them meant.

"Doctor Strange?" He asked, hoping that meant something to Mr. Stark.

"Did you see Stephen Strange?"

Peter wasn't sure.

He dropped his head back against the headrest, then blinked a few times, staring at the ceiling. May was going to worry. It was late and he was supposed to be going home and he was making May worry. Grabbing the door handle, he unlocked the door, then started to open it, only for Mr. Stark to slam on his breaks in the middle of the road. Peter reached for his seatbelt, but Mr. Stark was holding onto his shoulder, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Peter! What are you doing?" He cried, shaking him a little and swatting away the hand that worked at his seatbelt.

"May...I'm late. She's worried…"

"Hey, hey...focus up, Spiderling. Look at me." Mr. Stark demanded, a hand on his cheek. It kind of hurt, and he must have flinched because Mr. Stark adjusted his hand. "I'm taking you home, remember? I told May that I had you. You're okay. May knows where you are."

"I…" Peter looked at the clock on the dashboard as the door shut...and then Mr. Stark was back in the car? Had he gotten out. "Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah, Pete?" He asked, voice strained.

"I don't know where I am…"

"You're with me. In my car. It's Tony, kiddo. Mr. Stark. You're with me in my car and I'm taking you to someone that can help."

"Doctor Strange?"

"You know what? Yeah. Friday, get the wizard to meet us at the tower. Tell him it's an emergency.

"Mr. Stark?"

"What, kiddo?"

"I can't...the numbers keep...keep moving and I'm...I'm lost…"

The man reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing as he hit the accelerator. "You're not lost, buddy. I've got you. I'm going to get you home. We're going to figure this out and you're going to be fine."

Was this a dream? Everything was hazy and...hadn't he seen Ben?

He was shaken awake but Mr. Stark, and the man picked him up, only to lay him on a stretcher. Why was he on a stretcher? Was he asleep? They were moving, and Peter tried to sit up but the world spun and his body was stuck and his chest hurt...his head pounded and he was lost...he was lost and May..May was...May?

"What happened to him?"

"No idea." Mr. Stark told someone, but Peter couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. "May called me an hour ago...said she'd just gotten home and that Peter hadn't showed up. His friends had no idea where he was. I found him by the river, no jacket, no backpack. Apparently he was walking home and something happened...he kept saying your name."

"Mine?"

"Well, along with a bunch of other shit that didn't make any sense. Kept saying he was lost."

"Tony? When you found him, what was he doing?" A woman asked.

"Uh...sitting on the sidewalk."

"It looks like he got hit by a car. His ankle is broken and I think he's cracked some ribs." Hands touched his side and he groaned, turning his head away. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to find Doctor Strange standing there in jeans and a sweater.

"Doctor Strange?"

"Yes. Can you tell me what happened?"

"Had to...to find you…"

"Alright. You've found me. What happened?"

"I was...he made light...he made...Ben?"

Mr. Stark stood behind the wizard, looking just as lost as ever, but Doctor Strange's eyes widened and he put a hand on Peter's forehead, muttering something Peter didn't catch.

And then he was awake.

Peter gasped at the pain the sudden awareness brought, the world coming back into sharp focus. Fighting back a guttural scream, he slammed his head into the pillow underneath him, and Mr. Stark was holding his arms, face pale and afraid. "What the hell did you do?"

"It's a spell...someone was trying to kill him." Doctor Strange murmured. "It places the victim in a dreamlike trance...they're unable to feel cold and they find it difficult to feel pain. Most wander into the street or dehydrate before they're found. Peter?"

"Loud...it's...loud…" He whimpered, bringing his hands up over his ears, and he shut his eyes tight as the lights began to dim. Sensory overload. He'd had this happen a few times, but never this badly...never this intense.

"Friday! You know what to do. Pete? You're okay, kiddo." He was cold. So cold. And his ankle hurt. Shaking so hard his teeth chattered, Peter tried to curl up in a ball, but his side was killing him. "I know. I know it hurts, buddy. Give us just a second and we'll get you warmed up and get you some medicine. You're okay."

"What happened?" He gasped out, hands clenching into fists at his side, and Mr. Stark put a hand over his.

"You got wizard-whammied. But you're okay now. The good wizard fixed it."

"Mr. Stark? Hurts…"

"I know. Just give it a second." Something poked him in the arm, and something warm went into his arms that made it impossible to keep his eyes open.

"I'm...I'm going to…"

"You rest, buddy. We'll get you fixed up."

And then he was sleeping. No dreams, just darkness as Peter slept. He didn't wake until a hand brushed his hair back, and he opened his eyes to find Mr. Stark at his side. The man looked exhausted, with dark purple bags under his eyes. Behind him, Peter could just see his aunt asleep in a chair, a blanket covering her, and what looked like a couch cushion between her head and the wall.

"Hey, Pete."

"Mr. Stark?" He blinked a few times in the dim room, grateful for the heavy, warm blanket draped over him. He searched his memory for a moment, trying to find any clues as to why he was in his bed at the tower, when something came to him. "Did I get hit by a car?"

The man gave a tired, not all that amused smile. "You sure did, buddy. Broke your ankle and one of your ribs. Cracked three more. And gave you a nasty concussion. Not to mention the spell that some angry wizard put you under."

Peter just blinked at him for a moment. "I had...a really weird dream. I thought Ben was there and...and I was lost…"

Mr. Stark brushes his hair back again, resting his hand on the side of Peter's head. "Yeah, you were lost, kiddo. But I found you."

_**Thank you for reading!**_


	14. Revealed Secret

_**Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and reviewing! This one-shot is a continuation of my story Radioactive. If you haven't read it, Tony's biological son Peter is bitten by a radioactive spider and is left fighting for his life before gaining super powers, which he decides to use to fight crime, unbeknownst to his father.**_

Revealed secret

Peter Stark sat on his bed, feet kicking listlessly back and forth. Hands clasped in his lap. Eyes stinging with tears that he refused to let fall. He was too big to cry. Too old to let a fight with his dad hurt him like this.

No. Not just a fight. The worst fight of all fights. A one-sided shouting match that had quickly turned into a two-sided one. A fight that had started with a stab wound (like, a really minor one) and his father discovering him in his bathroom attempting to stop the bleeding. His dad had stood frozen for a long moment, jaw dropping, and then had raced into the room, gabbing towels to press against his side.

"What...oh god...Peter...what happened?" He hadn't been angry yet. He'd placed a hand on Peter's face as if searching his eyes for the truth. "Are you okay? What...Peter what...what happened?"

And Peter had tried to brush it off. He'd tried so hard. "Oh...it's fine, Dad. Just a scratch…"

"Peter someone stabbed you!" His father had cried, shaking his head, and now Peter thought back to the way his dad had pressed his hand to his cheek and hot tears finally escaped. His dad had been so worried. He'd been worried when Peter had gotten so sick and when he'd discovered these powers...and now...now he was just angry.

What if his dad didn't love him anymore?

"Did this happen at school?"

Peter had shaken his head.

"Because if someone at school stabbed you then…"

"It didn't happen at school! I promise it's just...it's just a cut. It's fine."

It had, in fact, been a stab wound. From a knife. Courtesy of the criminal he'd stopped from robbing a bodega a few minutes ago, quickly swinging home, sneaking in the window, and then throwing his suit under his bed where he'd hoped it wouldn't be found.

He'd made the suit himself, usually at night, in bits and pieces after his dad had gone to bed. He had his own lab space, and he'd perfected his web fluid along with his webshooters a few months ago before starting on the suit.

Never in his life had Peter been more proud of something he'd made. Never had he wanted to show soemthing to his father more. And he was working on his own AI, just like his dad's!

His dad had taken one look at the suit and blanched, turning green like he was going to throw up. "You. It's you…"

"I swear, it just started when this guy was getting mugged and then…"

"You've been lying to me...for months?"

"No! Not lying!"

"So you have been going to Ned's and staying late for Robotics club and this…". He'd shaken the suit. "This is just, what? Pajamas?"

"No...I mean…". Peter had started, but his dad had been too angry. Too furious to listen.

"I have these powers and I can stop bad things from happening!" He'd cried at one point.

"No!" His father had slammed a hand onto Peter's desk, eyes wild with fury and something else. Something like fear. "No! You aren't doing this. No more. Never again!"

"But I'm not a little kid!"

"You're _my_ kid!" His father had never screamed at him like that. Had never pointed a finger in his face and screamed.

"I just wanted to be like you!"

His dad had gripped the suit in a tight fist, shaking his head and backing away, the coldest disappointment in his eyes. "And I wanted you to be better."

_Better_, Peter thought as he sat on his bed, staring holes in his carpet in an effort not to cry. There was no 'better' than his father. No one was better. He could never be better. And now...now his father hated him. He'd lied to him and now his dad didn't trust him...he'd never let Peter be Spiderman.

He had lost Spiderman and his dad all in ten minutes.

Without the suit and without his dad, he was nothing.

Peter stood, stumbling over to the window, eyes shut tight against tears that fell anyway. His father hadn't said anything about being grounded, he thought, hands pressing against the window and opening it. "Friday?" Peter asked, voice catching. "Where's my dad?"

"Your father is currently in the lab." She sounded upset...almost contrite, and he sniffed.

"Can I leave?"

"Your father has not specified that you must stay here."

Peter grabbed a hoodie, pulling it up over his face,, wiping a rough hand over his eyes. His dad hadn't seen his prototype webshooters he'd had hidden in his desk drawer, so he grabbed those, making sure they were full of web fluid, then jumped out the window, barely glancing around to make sure he wasn't spotted.

His swinging led him to Central Park, then further as he tried not to think of those first years with his dad. Was that what it was going to be like now? Would his dad forget him again? Would the rest of his birthdays be spent with his father in the lab? Would he stop coming to parent teacher meetings? Would he stop loving him again?

Peter didn't stop until he found a tall apartment building to perch on, knees pressed against his chest, face hidden in his knees. When he heard the familiar sound of the Iron Man suit approaching, he thought about jumping again. About seeing how long he could stay ahead of his father. If he could escape. Maybe he should have run further. His dad didn't want him anymore anyway. Why not just run?

But it wasn't the Iron Man suit that landed in front of him. It was War Machine.

Uncle Rhodey stepped out of the suit, and Peter hid his face in his knees again, not wanting his uncle to see him cry. But the man came right over to him and sat down, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Your dad's really freaking out, buddy." He murmured, and Peter gave up on the silent crying, turning his face and hiding it in his uncle's shoulder. "Oh, Pete…"

"He doesn't want me anymore…"

"Woah...hey…" Rhodey shook his head but Peter just clung to him, soaking his shirt in tears.

"He...he hates me! He's going to forget about me again."

"Pete...no…" Rhodey whispered, turning and wrapping both arms around him, rocking them both back and forth on the rooftop. "No...Peter, he doesn't hate you. He's terrified. He…" The man sighed, placing a firm hand on Peter's back and rubbing gentle circles there. "He called me, freaking out, telling me that he'd yelled at you and now you were gone...god, Peter, he's so scared. He doesn't hate you. He could never hate you."

"He used to."

Rhodey sighed, shaking his head again and putting his other hand on the back of Peter's hair, holding him close. "No. Peter, he never hated you. He...you know your dad had his issues. He was an alcoholic, and a workaholic. He didn't have any idea how to be a father. But he got better. And he loves you more than anything in this world." Rhodey pulled away a little then, looking Peter in the eye. "You've got to know that, Peter." He gave him a sad smile that Peter was unable to return. "You scared him. The scariest thing in the world to him is something happening to you, and he walked in to find out that you'd been stabbed. He's so afraid of losing you."

Peter sniffed, lowering his eyes. "I wanted to help people like him...like all of you. And I can now!"

Rhodey leaned in, pressing his forehead against Peter's . "I know. You're just like your dad, you know? You both want to make the world better. And you will. Give your dad some time. He thought he was going to lose you less than six months ago, and now he's afraid of that happening again. But his love for you, it's not conditional. He loves you no matter what, and he always will."

Peter wiped a hand over his face and leaned his forehead against Rhodey's shoulder when he pulled away. His uncle wrapped him up in a hug once more, pressing a kiss to his hair. "And I love you too, kiddo. You ever need a place to run away to for a little while, you've got a key to mine, remember that."

"I will." They sat like that for a moment before Peter spoke again. "I really love being Spiderman," he whispered, wiping his eyes.

"I know you do. Your dad always loved being Iron Man...helping people. And the fact that he could be in the spotlight didn't hurt." Peter gave a watery chuckle. "But you're only fourteen. Like I said, give your dad a little time. Let him get used to this. Then maybe bring up the whole masked vigilante thing. Okay?"

Peter nodded, and his uncle patted his shoulder.

"How's your side? Your dad told me everything."

"It's fine." In reality, it ached, but Peter didn't want to tell him that.

"Alright. How about you swing home? I'll tell your dad that I found you and that you're on your way home. Sound okay?"

Peter hesitated before nodding, wiping his face again and hoping he didn't look like he'd been crying.

When Peter climbed in through his open window, his father barely let himself straighten before yanking him into his arms, and Peter hugged him just as desperately, hiding his face in his dad's chest. "Dad, I'm sor…"

His dad squeezed him tighter, pressing a rough kiss to the side of his hair. "Shh….it's okay. I'm sorry...no more yelling. I promise. I'm so sorry."

Peter shook his head. "I shouldn't have lied to you."

"No. You shouldn't have." He pulled away then, bringing a thumb up to wipe a tear from Peter's cheek, his expression soft and full of the love that had lived there for so long. "But it's okay. We can talk about that later. I'm just so glad that you're okay." Before Peter could speak, his dad pulled him "I love you so much. More than anything. I never want to make you feel like you have to run from me."

Peter nodded, squeezing his dad as tightly as he dared. "I love you too, Dad."

_**Thank you for reading! **_


	15. Lethal

_**Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and reviewing! It's day 21! **_

_Lethal_

The bullet only grazed him.

Sam Wilson's head jerked to the side at the cry of pain in the comms, immediately searching for Peter. It was maybe his second mission with both Bucky and the kid, now that Steve was gone and the kid's pseudo father was retired. It had been almost a year since they'd been back...since they'd returned to life after one battle only to be thrown into another, and for the kid to be thrown into another right after. Thankfully, Bucky and Sam had been able to get to Europe in time to help the kid out, and Tony had torn Fury a new one for messing with the kid on his school field trip right before taking the kid straight home and making him take a few months off.

The kid hadn't even seemed to mind. And Sam didn't blame him. For all his swinging around and building crazy new things, the kid was...well, he was a kid. And coming back to life, nearly losing the third in a line of father figures, and nearly dying on a field trip would take a toll on anyone. So Peter had spent those months catching up on school, apparently getting a girlfriend, and going over to Tony's lake house every other weekend or so, sometimes staying for a full week.

Sam only knew all this because the kid didn't seem to be capable of shutting up. Not that Sam minded. Not really. He'd even come to appreciate the constant background chatter, and Bucky like having the kid around too. Sam suspected it had something to do with an ironclad moral code and a tendency to get himself into trouble that rivaled Steve's. On their first mission, an easy one, so Tony had relented pretty quickly when Peter had asked to tag along, the kid had been a little quiet at first. Seemingly nervous. But all it had taken was one question from Sam about school to get the boy's whole life story, and from then on, the kid had been his usual chatterbox self.

Their second mission was a bit harder. If you could even call it a mission, that is. Some asshole calling himself 'Doc Ock' was wreaking havoc on Manhattan, and Peter had been the first on the scene. Apparently this guy was a nemesis of Spiderman's, which Sam knew because, like his nemesis, Octavius didn't seem to be capable of shutting up. The kid had been holding his own against this guy, for the most part, when Sam and Bucky had shown up, wondering aloud when supervillains had decided to go with themed costumes. Were Octopuses supposed to be evil, Sam had asked under his breath, making Peter laugh into the comms as he'd dodged a stray tentacle that had shot out to grab him.

"The Hydra logo kind of looked like an Octopus." Peter had pointed out, shooting a web and swinging around, trying to wrap the guy in his webs without much luck.

"No, it looked like a hydra. Geez, kid, don't they teach mythology at your fancy school?" Bucky had asked with a snort.

"I mean, we take US history, so…"

"Will you focus!" Sam had snapped with no real heat in his voice when a tentacle had nearly gotten him. The kid dodged like it was second nature, though, so he hadn't been in any real trouble. Or so Sam had assumed.

They'd both been circling the guy when the gun had gone off, and that's when Sam heard the cry of pain, and jerked his head up to watch the kid start to go limp, shooting a web at the last second to catch himself, a hand gripping his side. "Kid!" Sam called into the comms, taking a step toward him as Bucky moved to cover him, his eyes shooting worried looks Peter's way too. "Kid, you good?"

He hoped Peter was good, or else Stark was going to straight up murder them. He had a whole lake to hide bodies in now!

No, Sam thought a little ruefully. He didn't just hope Peter was okay for Stark's sake. He liked the kid. He was a hell of a superhero and a good kid and for god's sake he was only seventeen. How had they thought letting a seventeen year old become an Avenger was a good idea? "Spiderman!" He demanded when there was no answer, but then Peter jumped, landing on a rooftop and gripping the ledge for a moment.

"I'm good...just grazed me."

"You sure?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah...just...just need to sit."

"Alright. You hang tight, Spidey. We've got this."

To Sam's unending surprise, Peter did just that, although he did answer their occasional question about him being alright, assuring them that he was fine. That it had just grazed him. So they did their best to focus and bring him down, and then Sam flew up to the rooftop only to find the kid sitting against the ledge, legs out straight in front of him, mask off. "Kid? Hey, Peter? You good?"

"It grazed me…" Peter muttered, his hand still pressing on his side.

"Yeah, you said. Let me take a look." Sam knelt at his side, wings retracting, shield strapped to his back as Peter moved his hand out of the way and Sam got a look. It was bloody, but it looked like Peter was right. Just a graze. But that didn't explain the deathly pale pallor of the way Peter seemed to sway a little. No way the kid got sick at the sight of blood. "Peter? What's going on? You hurt somewhere else?"

"No…" He blinked up at Sam, flinching when he shifted on the ground. "Hurts. Hurts a lot...more than…" He gritted his teeth, biting back a grunt of pain and pressing his hand to his side, blood staining his fingers red. "Sam?"

"Alright, we need to get you to the Compound. Bucky? Can you get the car?"

"Kind of busy with Doc Asshole down here."

"Let the police get him. The kid's down."

"I thought the bullet just grazed him!" Bucky cried, sounding focused now. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know. Something's off. We need to get him to the Compound."

"We've got to get Stark to buy the tower back if we're going to be fighting crime in the city all the time." He grumbled, but Sam knew he was getting the car as asked.

"Mask back on, kid." He ordered, helping Peter pull the thing back over his face, then scooped him up. Peter placed a sticky hand onto his back, flinching a little when Sam stood.

"Hey, can I throw the shield?"

Sam snorted, jumping off the building as his wings unfurled. "No."

"Steve let me."

"He did not." At least the kid was talking. If he was talking, he was okay.

"Well he would have if I'd asked."

"Doubt that."

"Have you ever played frisbee with the shield?"

"No," Sam lied. He and Bucky had played frisbee with the shield at least twice.

"Have too...Mr. Stark…" Peter took in a pained breath, dropping his head and taking deep breaths for a moment.

"Kid?"

"He told me you...you'd…"

"Talk to me, Peter. What's going on?" As he landed beside the car that Bucky had waiting for them, Peter's eyes fluttered, seeming to lose focus for a moment. "Peter!"

"He told...told me…". Peter blinked a few times up at Sam, jaw clenching in pain as Bucky yanked the back door open.

"Peter?"

And then the boy went rigid in his arms, eyes rolling back, his whole body shaking as his limbs jerked, and Sam was frozen in place for a solid two seconds before he knelt down, doing his best to lay him down. Bucky yanked off his jacket and shoved it under Peter's head while Sam's hands hovered over the boy's jerking body, hesitating for only a moment before getting him on his side as best he could. Dragging his eyes away, he looked at his watch, trying to time the seizure and force his mind away from the boy seizing on the floor.

"You're alright, kid. Hang on...just...hang on…". He muttered, meeting Bucky's eyes.

"How long?" Bucky demanded as the seconds seemed to drag on, Sam doing his best to keep the kid on his side and keep the jacket under his head.

"Almost a minute."

"How long until…"

Sam activated his comm again. "Connect to the Spider suit." He ordered, spitting out an override code that Tony had forced him to memorize. "Karen?" He asked, feeling kind of dumb. Why had the kid named his AI Karen?

The voice that greeted him was female and more lifelike than he would have expected. "Captain. Peter has been seizing for a minute and 10 seconds and counting. A lethal toxin has been introduced to his bloodstream and he requires immediate medical intervention, as well as an antidote to the toxin."

"Okay, how long do we have to get that?"

"Approximately two hours."

Sam swore, feeling his heart race. No...two hours wasn't long enough! It was a forty minute drive to the compound, even if they sped the whole way. How were they supposed to get an antidote?

Bucky stood then, racing away from them, and Sam put a bracing hand on Peter's shoulder. They had to get him to the compound. "Bucky?" He asked his comm.

"Get him to the compound! I'm gonna get what I can from Doc whatever."

The boy continued to grunt and shake, his limbs jerking and making it nearly impossible for him to wrestle him into the backseat. "Karen? Keep timing it! Tell me if we get past five minutes."

He had no idea what he could do if they got past five minutes. Laying him in the backseat and pulling his mask off once more, Sam slammed the door, then jumped into the driver's seat. "Call Tony!" He ordered, pressing his foot on the gas. If Bucky got anything, he'd have to find his own way to the compound. They couldn't just leave the kid out on the street. They had to get help!

"Hey, Sam, how did…"

"I'm on my way to the compound with the kid. Bullet laced with some kind of toxin. We've only got two hours. Bucky's trying to get Doc Ock to talk."

Tony was silent for a moment, and Sam hated being the bearer of bad news...especially when it had to do with this kid. But Tony needed to know. He would want to be there…Sam didn't even want to finish that sentence but his brain did anyway.

Just in case.

"I'll meet you there. Can I talk to him?"

"Karen?" Sam asked, glancing into the rear view mirror, knowing that Tony would hear. The boy still convulsed, but it was slowing down.

"Nearing four minutes."

"Four minutes?" Tony barked.

"He's seizing. I couldn't wait…". There was an apology in his voice, but Tony didn't acknowledge it.

Then, mercifully, the boy was still. "The seizure appears to have ended." She announced then.

"Peter? Kid?" Tony called over the Bluetooth sound system, but the boy didn't move or even seem to breathe. "Peter? Sam, is he conscious?"

"Karen? Vitals?" Sam tried to keep his eyes on the road but he couldn't help himself...the kid was too still.

"His heart rate and blood pressure are dropping," she informed him, almost sounding afraid. As if an AI could be afraid.

"Stay with me, Peter!" Sam ordered, forgetting about stony for a moment. "Come on, kid. Just keep breathing for us!"

"Peter!" Tony called again, voice breaking, and Sam closed his eyes, clenching his fist on top of the steering wheel.

There was no reaction from the back seat.

"Just get to the compound," Sam ground out, teeth clenched so tightly his jaw hurt. He couldn't lose this kid. Not on their second mission. Hell, not ever.

They were almost to the compound when Peter made a noise in the back seat, muttering under his breath and starting to roll over, only to find himself lodged between the front seat and the back. Sam had driven the whole way in tense silence, not daring to even turn on the radio. He hadn't heard anything from Bucky...had no idea if he'd been able to get an antidote...or at least the poison for Helen to work with. "Peter?" He called just as the compound came into view through the trees. "Pete? You with me?"

"I'm...I ca...can't…"

"Hang on, Peter. Come on, buddy...come on..." He glanced in the rearview mirror again, but he couldn't even see the kid's face. "Peter? Karen? How's he doing?"

"His temperature is 104 and climbing." She told him softly through the commas. He bit back a curse and slammed on the breaks as they reached the medbay doors, jumping out of the car just as the door opened and a gurney was being wheeled out by Helen.

"Peter?" He yanked the back door open, touching Peter's arm and trying to wrestle him into a position where he could pick him up. The boy's eyes were shut, face pale, lips almost blue, and Sam forgot about being gentle, just yanked him upright and pulled him out of the backseat to get him onto the gurney. "He...he got hit...he was grazed by a bullet and..."

"We know." Helen's voice was gentle as she gave him a brief smile, then she was pulling back Peter's eyelid, shining a light into the whites of his eyes. "Karen sent us all of his information." And then they were rolling him away, leaving Sam out in the parking lot.

Tony was waiting for him in the hallway on one of the benches, his hands clasped in his lap. As soon as Sam entered, however, he jumped to his feet. "Helen just took him back."

"Do you have the bullet?"

"It just grazed him. He was in the air when Octavius shot him. He was fine for a minute...we were getting Ock restrained and he was on the roof…" Sam trailed off, shaking his head. The boy had spent most of the ride in and out of consciousness, sometimes muttering words he couldn't catch, but occasionally he would call out. For Sam. For Bucky. For his aunt...and for Tony. Usually for Tony. "Bucky was trying to find out something from Octavius when we left. I couldn't leave the kid on the street."

Tony gave a short nod, jaw tight as he sat back down, obviously resigning himself to wait. He was all tension, with hunched shoulders and hands clenched into fists. Sam wanted to try and comfort him...wanted to assure him that Helen was the best and that Bucky would get the antidote if it killed him because he loved that kid just as much as the rest of them and that Tony could take the kid back to the lake house with May and Pepper and Morgan and…

Sam could have kicked himself. "Have you called May?"

Tony nodded. "She and Happy are on their way up."

He let himself sit then, grabbing his phone and staring at it. Nothing from Bucky.

Nearly an hour had passed since Peter had been shot. Sam was counting every minute as Helen came out and led them back to his room. As Tony took a seat by Peter's side, gripping his hand and staring down at the bloodless face as if just staring might wake him up. The tube in his throat breathed for him, and an IV ran from his arm. The little monitor at his side told him that his heart rate was high, his temperature higher. He counted the seconds as May raced past where he'd stationed himself by the door and took her nephew's other hand.

He thought about advising them to say goodbye. Just in case. It was a thought that had him wiping his eyes and looking away, then glaring at his phone. Where was Bucky?

Helen came in and whispered to Tony and May, both of whom shook their heads almost angrily, but not at Helen. Not even at Sam. But he was still responsible, he thought. He hadn't been keeping a close enough eye on the boy.

They had twenty minutes left when Bucky raced through the door, hands covered with blood, chest heaving. Without a word, he held out a little plastic baggie with a bullet inside, and Helen all but snatched it from him, shoving past him to get out of the room. Tony and May just stared as Bucky gasped for air, then grinned a little. "I got one of his bullets. He'd stashed the gun…"

Sam could have hugged him.

May did hug him.

It was forty five minutes later when Peter woke, eyes fluttering as he groaned under his breath. Sam and Bucky hung back by the door and let May and Tony sit at his side, touching his cheek and brushing his hair back. Telling him that everything was okay. That he was going to be fine. That they'd have more pain medicine for him soon.

And then, the kid spoke his first coherent sentence. "Are Bucky and Sam okay?"

"Yeah, bud. They're just fine." Tony assured him, then shot the two of them a look so grateful that Sam wasn't sure how to receive it.

**Thank you for reading!**


	16. Turned Into A Toddler

_**Thank you so much to everyone who have been reading and reviewing! I got a lot of requests for this one, so I hope it turned out okay :) **_

_Turned into a toddler_

Tony hit the ground hard, his body banging against the suits. Groaning, he brought a metal covered hand up to his face plate and watched as Friday lit up the places that had been damaged. Cuts and bruises mostly, which was less than ideal but not terrible. He was getting old, he thought with a sigh as he sat up, stretching a little and trying to ease the ache in his back. It was times like this that he realized his time as Iron Man was limited.

Maybe one day he'd be okay with that.

Peter landed in a crouch a few feet away, straightening without so much as a grumble and shot an arm out to him, looking around to make sure the bad wizard was nowhere close before pulling him to his feet. "Mr. Stark? You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, kid." Almost two years of knowing Peter, if you counted Germany, and almost a year of working with him, and he still felt a little awkward around the boy. Still felt like he was surely going to hurt him. Drive him away. After all, wasn't he Howard's son? Of course, he'd never looked at his own father the way Peter looked at him...and he wasn't Peter's father regardless. Still, the kid came around every once in a while to have his suit worked on, and Tony listened to all of his reports via Happy's voicemail. Tony felt like he was making an effort. And the kid was fine. Maybe a little quiet, but fine. They were...well, they were getting to know each other. Slowly. And Tony was trying to make himself okay with that. He liked the kid just fine. Hell, more than that, he felt like he could really care about this kid. But Peter was just that. A kid. And Tony knew better than anyone what the men in his family did to kids.

They hurt them. They broke them. Hadn't his father done that to him? So he tried to keep his distance, even when Peter came to the compound. He decided to go through with getting rid of the tower. Peter was a superhero in his own right. He didn't need Tony around all the time to keep an eye on him, and one day, Peter would agree. He would see what kind of man Tony was and he'd be grateful that he'd dodged that bullet.

He'd been surprised when Peter had called for help, and even more surprised when the boy had said the other guy was using magic. Tony had picked up the phone call from the boy's suit a little warily only an hour before. He'd been in his lab, trying to perfect the nanotech suit that still had plenty of bugs to work out. He wanted to equip Peter's new suit with the nanotech, but it had to be perfect first. "What's up, Underoos?" He'd asked, trying to act as if Peter calling him was an everyday occurrence.

"Mr. Stark? Um... I'm sorry to bother….you." It has sounded like Peter was running. Or fighting. "Um, are you…are you busy? Right now?"

"Not particularly. What's wrong?" He'd put his screwdriver down with a frown. No way Peter would call him for just anything.

"I could kind of use some help?"

Peter had never asked him for help. Never. So Tony had summoned the suit immediately, racing toward the door and then shooting up into the sky. "I'm on my way. What's going on?"

"This guy's like...a wizard or something! I don't think I can hold him off for much longer."

Surprisingly, the kid had been right. Wizard seemed like a pretty good description. He even had robes. And seemed to be moving things without touching them. If this was magic, Tony wasn't a fan.

Peter had been doing an admirable job of holding the wizard off and minimizing destruction in Queens, but the kid was hurt. Tony wasn't sure how badly, but even if Peter didn't bring it up, Tony could see the gash across the side of his suit, the material dark with blood. They'd have to fix that later.

Tony surveyed the city block that was now deserted, looking down at Peter to find him doing the same, eye lenses widening.

Something was wrong.

Thats when the wizard appeared out of nowhere, hand outstretched toward Peter, and Tony moved without thinking. He grabbed the kid's shoulder, throwing him down and stepping right into the line of fire...and the world went dark.

"Mr. Stark!"

Tony didn't know the voice but it sounded scared, and immediately he was scared too, gasping as he found himself trapped in a box. Why was he in a box? Where was his mom? Where was...no...his mom? That thought seemed wrong but he wasn't sure why. All he knew was that he was trapped and it was small and dark and his dad got angry when he was scared of the dark but he was scared anyway!

"Mr. Stark! Hold on!"

And then there was a light and he blinked at the brightness, covering his face and sniffed back tears. He was too big to cry. But it was so bright and it hurt his eyes and his head hurt and he was scared!

"Oh….oh god….oh no…." The person kneeling over him whispered, and Tony finally managed to open his eyes once the person blocked the sun. "Um….Mr. Stark?"

The man kneeling over him was familiar, but it wasn't his mom or dad or Jarvis. Tony couldn't remember who it was. Was this one of his dad's friends? Where was he?

"Mr...Uh...Tony?"

That was his name! This man must know him if he knew his name! Tony nodded, sniffing again. His arm hurt, and his head too, and the man reached out for him with shaking hands. Tony didn't care. He just wanted out of the box! Reaching out, he threw himself into the man's arms, noticing at the last second that the man was wearing weird clothes with a spider on the chest...and that Tony was practically drowning in a huge t-shirt. How had he even gotten here? Whose shirt was this? Where were his parents?

"Okay...um...Tony? Do you...do you remember me?"

Tony shook his head, face hidden in the man's neck. He did, but he couldn't remember who exactly he was. It didn't matter. He was scared and he wanted Jarvis. Or his mom. Or even his dad!

The street was silent, and the man pulled something over his face before he was running, leaving what looked like a big red robot behind. Tony didn't want to leave it! It was important. Tugging on the man's arm, he finally felt the tears spill over. "Don't!" He yelled, shaking his head and crying more when it made his head hurt. "The...the robot!"

"We have to get out of here! I don't know where that wizard guy went but I have to get you somewhere safe! You're a baby, Tony!"

Tony glared then, kicking his feet in indignation. "I'm not a baby! I'm…". Then it hit him. He had no idea how old he was! Hadn't his mom said he was a big boy now? Hadn't his dad said he was too big to cry! That he was almost old enough to build things? He was...he was big! "I'm big." He grumbled, giving up on remembering the number and dropping his head into the man's shoulder.

"Okay. I'm sorry." The man patted his back, slipping into an alley, then heading for a black ladder on the outside of a building, jumping and grabbing the bottom rung easily. "You're right. You're not a baby. But...uh...the bad guy wants to hurt us so we have to hide! And….and then I have to call Happy!"

The man sounded scared as he climbed the ladder, keeping Tony secure against his side with one arm, and the only part of that Tony really understood was 'bad guy.' He wanted to get away from bad guys. His dad had told him stories about his friend, Captain America, and how he'd fought bad guys and kept good people safe. Was this man like Captain America?

Soon, they were climbing through a window and the man put him down, shut the window, and leaned heavily against the wall, a hand pressed to his side. Reaching up, he yanked the mask off, teeth gritted as he threw his against the wall. "Are you okay?" the man asked him through his clenched teeth, straightening but keeping a hand pressed to his side.

"My head hurts." Tony whispered it, looking around the strange room. He was on the bottom bunk of a bed, bare legs dangling off the side. There were boxes along one wall, with words he couldn't quite read, and a pile of clothes in front of them. Beside Peter was a desk, and a desk chair crammed underneath. It was nothing like his dad's big desk, or the one his mom wrote at. It was old and messy and covered in papers that spilled onto the floor.

"Okay...okay. I have to...have to call Happy and…". The man gasped, legs bending as he slid down the wall, and something in Tony's chest started to hurt. The man was hurt. The man was hurt and he was really important to Tony.

Sliding off the bed, Tony walked over to the man, nearly tripping on the shirt a few times. The man didn't look up, just breathed through his teeth, a tear escaping after a moment. And Tony hated it.

Peter. This was Peter. The name struck him like lightning. Peter.

Who was Peter?

"Peter?" He asked, tapping the man on the leg.

His eyes flew open then, and he stared at Tony with wide eyes. "Yeah?"

"You hurt?"

"Yeah…" Peter nodded, smiling but not happy. "Yeah, but I'm okay. It's okay. I'm going to...uh...I'll call Happy."

"You happy?"

"No...no, Happy is a person. It's his name. He works for...um...me." He finished, pulling something out of his pocket, then holding it to his ear for a long time. Nothing must have happened because he touched the thing again, then held it to his ear once more.

Then again.

He said a bad word under his breath then, touching the thing several times.

This time something happened.

"Ned?" Peter asked the thing. Tony thought it was a phone because a voice came out of it, but it was a really small phone, nothing like the one on their wall at home. "I need some help. Like...now."

Tony wandered off as Peter talked on the phone, staring up at the bunk bed that reached almost all the way to the ceiling, then at the posters of outer space on the walls. He wanted to go home...but also, he felt safe with Peter even though he didn't know who exactly Peter was. Peter was important. Peter was his friend. He loved Peter. All of these things were true even if he couldn't remember why.

"Okay, um….my friend is coming over and he'll bring you something to wear. And…". Peter swallowed, grabbing the wall and pulling himself up. "And I can get you something to eat...are you hungry?"

Tony just stared at him as he struggled to understand. "Where's mom?"

Peter's face fell and he looked lost for a moment...scared, just like Tony felt. Almost like Tony had done something wrong or said the wrong thing. He knew all about that look from his father's face. But then Peter's expression changed, and he smiled at Tony.

"I don't know, but I'm going to take care of you, okay? Just for a little while. We're going to fix this. I promise." Peter headed for the bedroom door, opening it and gesturing for Tony to follow. Not sure what was outside of that door, he reached out and gripped Peter's hand. Immediately, Peter turned his hand and held Tony's, squeezing gently. "It's okay. This is my apartment. I live here with my aunt, but she's at work all weekend, so it's just us for now. What do you want to eat?"

Tony shrugged, staring down at his bare feet. He wanted his mom. He wanted to go home. He wanted to remember how old he was and what had happened, and tears sprung to his eyes once more as it all hit him. Something was wrong!

"Hey...don't...don't cry. I mean...here." Peter reached down and lifted him, moving over to the sofa and holding him on his lap. "It's okay. I know it's probably really weird and scary. But you're safe here." Peter held a hand on his back, another on his hair, rocking him back and forth as he cried at the strangeness of it all. "We're going to fix it. Okay. I'll fix it. I promise."

Tony must have drifted off, because when he woke, he was laying on the sofa, a blanket wrapped around him, and there were voices coming from a different room. "But...dude! How…"

"It doesn't matter. Look, I need to make sure he's okay and then I have to sew this up and feed him and feed myself…"

"And you've called Happy?" the strange voice asked.

"I've called him six times! He's not answering! And I don't have anyone else's phone number! I don't know what to do!"

"Okay...okay. It's fine. This is why I'm your guy in the chair, right? I'll um...do some research on wizards! And I got the clothes."

"Good. He's just in a t-shirt and...god, Ned, I don't know what to do with a baby!"

"I think he's, like...three."

"Whatever! He's tiny and he doesn't remember and…".

Tony slid to the edge of the sofa and let himself down. His stomach was growling and his head still hurt a little, but he wanted to know who this other person was. So, following the voices, he found Peter holding a rag to his side and a bunch of bags on the table. Both he and another man, this one bigger than Peter, turned to look at him.

"Hey...hi, Tony. We've got you some clothes. Can you...uh...can you get dressed by yourself?"

Tony nodded, still staring at the other guy.

"Oh, this is Ned. He's my friend. He brought you some clothes. Here." Peter pulled a shirt with a red robot on the front out of the bag and glared at his friend for a second. "Seriously?"

"It fits!"

Peter rolled his eyes, then pulled out a pair of sweatpants and handed both to Tony. "Um...the bathroom is in there."

Tony wasn't all that sure how to get the pants on right, but he did his best. He was a big boy and he didn't want to make Peter mad, even though all he knew about Peter was that he was important. He was the one taking care of Tony. But more than that...Tony loved him. He loved him a lot. He wanted Peter to be happy and he wanted Peter to love him too. So he did his best with the shirt and the pants, then came out of the bathroom to find Peter holding a needle, leaning against the kitchen counter and pushing the needle into his own side where a jagged cut ran from his front to his back.

"Peter!" Tony cried, horrified and something else. Guilty. It hadn't been his fault but he felt like it had! Like he should have stopped Peter from getting hurt!

Peter glanced up at him with a little smile, eyes red and filled with tears, one of which trailed down his cheek. "Hey. It's okay. Um...I got a cut and I've just got to close it. I'm okay."

He didn't look okay, but Tony gave a shaky nod, hiding a little behind the sofa and watching as Peter stabbed himself again and again, pulling the thread tight each time. Soon, he had a line of stitches just like when Jarvis had sewn up his favorite jacket, promising not to tell his dad that he'd torn it playing outside.

"There. All done." Peter assured him with a grin, dabbing at the cut with a washcloth and gritting his teeth, hissing out a breath for a second, then pulling a clean shirt on. "Come here," he urged, and Tony did. Peter knelt down so that they were almost eye to eye, moving gingerly, and then reached out. "Arms up." Tony did as he asked, and Peter pulled his shirt off, turned it around, then put it back on. "It was backwards."

"Sorry," Tony whispered, shamefaced as he stared down at the floor. He should have known that!

"It's okay. We fixed it." Peter smiled at him then, a look he'd never seen on his father's face, and not all that often on his mother's. No...it was a face that Jarvis would give him. A smile that made him smile back, something warm and bubbly in his chest, and Tony felt it on his face, a grin growing from ear to ear. Stepping forward without thinking about it, he threw his arms around Peter, and, after a moment of hesitation, Peter hugged him back, squeezing gently and rubbing his back.

"I love you." Tony whispered the words...words that felt so right. He loved Peter! Peter needed to know that! Had he ever said it before? Had he even met Peter before? He must have! But the memories slipped away and he was left with only the feeling of Peter holding him so tightly and so safely in his arms. Peter would keep him safe.

But he also wanted to keep Peter safe. It was a strange thought. He'd never been able to keep anyone safe before. He wouldn't be able to until he was a grown up.

"Okay! I've got something! There's some place in Manhattan...I think there are, like...sorcerers there?" Ned called from the other room, and Peter straightened, lifting Tony into his arms as if he'd been doing it all his life.

"Okay...it's almost eight now...we can go in the morning. So...so I'll make him dinner and...what time do kids go to bed?"

"I don't know, dude...ten thirty?"

"That early?"

"Yeah, I guess?" Ned came around the corner and shrugged. "I left the address on the table. My mom's going to kill me if I don't get home soon."

"Yeah, of course. Thanks again for…" Peter waved a hand and Ned grinned.

"That's what a guy in the chair is for." He moved toward the door and waved. "Buy Mr. Stark!"

Tony furrowed his brow and watched the boy leave. Mr. Stark was his dad's name. Why would Ned call him that?"

Peter made him mac and cheese for dinner, something his father never wanted him to eat but that Jarvis made sometimes when his parents were out of town. He scarfed it down, hungrier than he'd realized, then drank the gross medicine Peter gave him, complaining about the taste until Peter gave him a tiny sip of soda, something else he wasn't supposed to have. After brushing his teeth with the new toothbrush that Ned had bought him, he was yawning, but didn't want to go to bed in this strange house.

Peter let him stay up, turning on some movie about outer space, and the next thing Tony knew, he was in Peter's arms, and being laid down on a bed not nearly as soft as his own. A blanket was pulled up over him, tucked up to his neck, and a hand brushed his hair back. It was nice. Jarvis was usually the one to put him to bed, but when his mom did it, she would touch his hair like that too, and kiss his cheek.

When Tony woke from the nightmare about a man that could shoot light from his hands, he knew right off that something was wrong, and tears were streaming down his cheeks before he could stop them. His dad was going to be so mad! Hiding his face in his hands, he sobbed, trying to be as quiet as he could, but a weak light came from the bed above him, and Peter peered down at him with half-open eyes, the little phone in his hands lighting up the bottom bunk. "Mr. Sta...uh...Tony?" He refused to look up, curling up into an even smaller ball and soaking the knees of his pants with his tears.

The man hopped down then, landing without a sound and kneeling beside the bed. "What's the matter? Did you have a bad dream?" He reached out for him, but Tony stiffened and pulled away, not wanting Peter to see. His dad had spanked him the last time. He wasn't supposed to do this anymore! "Oh." Peter's voice had gone quiet, and then a hand touched his hair. "Hey, Tony...it's okay. I promise, it's okay. It's no big deal. Happens to everyone."

Tony shook his head. That wasn't true. Big boys didn't do this! Big boys…

"Tony, look at me." A hand slipped under his chin, turning his face to look at Peter. "It's okay. Why don't we get you changed? Come on. If we hurry, we can go back to sleep."

Without yelling...without saying a single mean thing, Peter led him to the bathroom, brought him a change of clothes, and dressed him in the new pants and shirt, this one with a spider on it. The shirt made Peter laugh a little, but Tony didn't ask why. He was waiting...waiting for Peter to yell or tell him that he was acting like a baby. Instead, Peter just knelt in front of him again, ruffling his curly hair. "It's okay. I promise."

"Dad...he gets really mad." Tony whispered it like it was a secret. Like talking about his father too loudly might summon him. Peter's face darkened for a moment, but then he was smiling again.

"Well, that's not very nice. You can't help it. Now come on. You want to sleep on the couch?" Tony hesitated, and Peter seemed to notice. "Or you can sleep on the top bunk with me?"

Tony slept on the top bunk, lifted there by Peter, and he wondered if he'd ever been so high. Curling up by the wall, he gripped Peter's shirt in his fist, and Peter threw an arm around him, giving him a quick smile before closing his eyes. When he thought Peter was probably asleep, Tony curled up a little closer, his head slowly migrating to Peter's arm.

He didn't seem to mind.

Breakfast was cereal, and then they were on a bus, Tony practically on Peter's lap. He'd never been on a bus before, and Peter kept an arm around him. "It's okay. It's just going to take us to someone who can help you."

Tony thought about asking for his mom and dad...but really...he didn't miss them. He was confused, and he was a little sad when he thought about them, but he didn't miss them like he thought he would. He missed...someone else. Things he couldn't remember. And he didn't want to leave Peter.

Peter was important. Why was Peter so important? His brain ran itself in circles as he tried to figure it out. Why did Peter seem so familiar?

They arrived in a busy part of the city, and Peter kept a firm hand on Tony's, leading him across the streets and down sidewalks until they reached a tall building with a huge front door. Hesitating for only a second, Peter stepped up to the door and knocked, giving Tony a hopeful smile. Tony, for his part, stared around at the busy sidewalk and stuck close to Peter, resting his head on Peter's leg. Peter would keep him safe. Peter was Spiderman.

Tony paused at that thought, blinking in confusion when the door opened to reveal a man even taller than Peter wearing a strange outfit. "Can I help you?"

Who was Spiderman? What did that mean?

"Hi. Uh...I'm...I'm Peter. This is Tony. Are you…I need some help. I'm looking for a wizard."

The man's name was Wong, and apparently he couldn't help them, but he led them into the building, shutting the door behind them and gesturing for them to sit on some pillows on the floor. Peter did, and without thinking, Tony climbed into his lap, getting the closeness while he could. This was another thought that confused him...it wasn't like Peter was going anywhere, but he didn't question it. Wong left for a moment, then returned with another man, this one tall with black and white hair who stared down at him with a furrowed brow. Tony gripped Peter's shirt, fighting the urge to hide his face in his shoulder. He was a big boy, he told himself. He wasn't scared of...well...whoever this was.

"Hi. I'm Peter Parker."

"Doctor Strange." The man sat across from them, still staring at him. "You're looking for a wizard?" He said this with a raised eyebrow. Tony flinched. His dad talked to people like that sometimes, and it usually made them nervous. But Peter just gave a weak laugh, shrugging a little.

"Yeah. Um...I'm...well, this is Tony." The man lifted his other eyebrow, not seeming too happy to be bothered. "Tony Stark."

This got his attention, and the man's head jerked toward Peter once more. "Tony Stark?"

"Yeah. We...I mean he was fighting a wizard...a bad wizard. And he shot a beam of light at me but Mr. Stark pushed me down and now…"

"So you must be Spiderman?"

Peter stiffened, the arm around him tightening before Tony felt him nod. "Yeah."

Spiderman. What was Spiderman?

"Well...it's a fairly simple thing to reverse. Although we will need to do some research on this rogue wizard." Doctor Strange said this to Wong who gave a quick nod before leaving the room. "I'll take him in here...we should have some clothes to fit him. We'll be right back." As soon as the doctor reached for Tony he scrambled back against Peter, shaking his head and throwing his arms around his neck.

He couldn't leave Peter he loved Peter! Peter was important!

Peter wrapped his arms around him, patting his back. "Hey, it's okay. This guy's going to help."

"No!" Tony screamed it, shrinking away and gripping Peter's shirt even more tightly. "No! Stay with you!"

"I'll be right in here, I promise!" Peter assured him, standing up and holding him. "Hey...Tony?" He stepped away from Doctor Strange who had retreated a little, and Tony chanced a look at him, not relinquishing his hold. "The doctor has to fix you. Okay? You're...you're sick, and he's just going to look at you really fast and then you can see me again. I promise."

Peter looked sad when he said that, and Tony hated it. He hated that Peter was sad, and he chanced letting one fist release the shirt to pat Peter's face. "Sad." He whispered. "You."

"I...I'll really miss you. I mean...I'll see you again. I promise. I'll be right in this room, waiting for you. But...I don't think it's going to be the same."

Tony didn't understand, but Peter just smiled then, still sad. "Go with Doctor Strange for one minute, and then you can see me again. Okay?"

Tony hesitated. "Can we have mac and cheese for lunch?"

Peter gave a quick laugh, wiping his eyes. "Yeah. You can have whatever you want for lunch."

Leaning forward, Tony wrapped his arms tightly around Peter's neck, hugging as hard as he could. "I love you."

"I love you too." Peter squeezed him, not seeming to want to let go either, but then he did, smiling with red eyes and handing him to Doctor Strange who carried him away.

"Peter?" He asked, voice thick with tears that he knew he couldn't stop.

"Peter's still going to be there." The doctor's voice wasn't nice, exactly, but it wasn't really mean. "You, sit here." He wrapped Tony in a blanket and sat him on a sofa, then took a few steps back.

And then everything went black.

When Tony opened his eyes, he came awake with a gasp, a hand flying to the scar of his arc reactor as he sat straight up. The memories hit him hard, one after the other in quick succession. That asshole had turned him into a toddler. He'd wet the fucking bed at Peter Parker's apartment. Peter had been hurt. Peter had taken care of him. Peter was important. Peter loved him.

He loved Peter.

"Peter?" he demanded, looking around the room only to find the tall man, Doctor Strange staring at him. "How long have I been out? Where's Peter?"

"Don't worry, Stark. Your ward is safe in the other room, as promised. If you'd like to…"

Without stopping to correct him or thank him, which he'd do later, Tony jumped up and grabbed the clothes, yanking them on then bursting out of the room.

Peter loved him Peter was important he loved Peter.

The kid sat on one of the pillows, staring down at the floor almost listlessly, but when he looked up and saw Tony, he jumped to his feet, hands up as if in surrender. "I'm so sorry...Mr. Stark...I swear I tried to call Happy but he didn't answer and I didn't have anyone else's number and I promise I'll never tell anyone and…" The boy only stopped talking when Tony reached him, hands dropping out of the way when Tony threw his arms around him, pulling him close like Peter had done for him so many times over the last fourteen or so hours. "Oh…" The kid froze, then hesitantly lifted his arms up to return the hug.

Peter loved him Peter was important he loved Peter.

"I love you, kid," he whispered. He'd known it for a long time. But now he had to say it. He loved Peter. This kid was important to him and he loved him and Tony didn't want to ever see that sad look on Peter's face again...that look that was so sure he wasn't actually loved by someone he cared so much about. Tony knew that look. He'd seen it in the mirror so many times as a kid. But he was going to break the cycle. For real this time.

Peter swallowed hard, and his voice broke a little when he answered. "Love you too. I'm glad you're okay."

"All thanks to you, buddy." There was a comfortable moment of silence, and then the memory of the needle and thread hit Tony anew, making him pull away a little. "Did you seriously sew yourself up? In your kitchen?" He didn't mean it to come out so harshly, but Peter only gave him a sheepish smile.

"Yeah...but it's fine. I swear...I do it all the time…" As if realizing he shouldn't have said that, Peter dropped his eyes and literally bit his own tongue.

Tony sighed, then pulled Peter back in for a hug. "Yeah, we're talking about that later."

_**Thank you for reading!**_


	17. Baking a Cake

**A short febufluff for day 24! :)**

_Baking a cake_

Tony dropped his head into his hands, fighting the urge to throw the tablet across the room. This was supposed to be simple. Hell, he'd specifically put the word 'simple' at the end of his search. Building robots was simple. Coding his own AI was simple. But making this stupid birthday cake was decidedly not simple.

It was the first year he would actually see Peter on his birthday. The year before that, Peter had been celebrating with his aunt, and they hadn't quite established a schedule for lab days. The year before, Tony had been doing his best to keep the kid at arm's length while also trying to sell the tower he'd since bought back. It was more convenient for him to have a base in the city...it let him see the kid more often and Peter didn't have to go as far on internship days. Plus Happy was a lot less grumpy when Peter could get himself to the tower vs the days he'd driven him to the compound upstate.

It was Peter's seventeenth birthday, and Tony felt like he was finally getting the hang of this whole mentor thing. He and Peter spent at least one day a week together, there had been more than one occasion when Peter had just stayed the night at the tower, and Tony had converted the guest room he usually stayed in into Peter's bedroom, complete with bed and desk and signed superhero posters. They'd had driving lessons together, although Peter didn't have a car yet. Tony was planning on getting him one for graduation, but he'd have to clear it with May. Maybe if it was a sensible car...or one that he and Peter could build together. After all, the kid would need to know how to fix cars if he was going all the way to MIT.

May was even coming around. After she and Happy had started dating, she'd softened toward him a little, giving her blessing for the sleepovers and internship days as long as Peter had plenty of time for his homework and friends, which Tony agreed with. He didn't want the kid turning into him, growing up before he was ready. It was why he totally supported Peter attending high school for the full four years. Let the kid be a kid...he'd have plenty of time to be an adult.

Peter's birthday just happened to fall on lab day this year, and Tony had reluctantly offered to change their usual day, not wanting the kid to miss out on spending his birthday with his friends. But the kid had responded to his text with an assurance that it was fine. He had to go to school that day anyway, and he said that he and May would be doing something together that weekend...and Tony had been excited.

He'd ordered balloons by the truck-full, filling the living room and kitchen with balloon bouquets in red and blue. He'd wrapped the kid's present and put it on the kitchen counter, then hung a banner from the kitchen ceiling. "Happy Birthday Peter."

And now, staring between the balloons and the banner and the third attempt at baking a birthday cake, he started to feel a grain of doubt in his chest. What if it was too much? What if the kid didn't want any of this? He wasn't Peter's father or uncle or anything resembling family. He was just a mentor. And he didn't doubt that Peter liked spending time with him, but what if the kid didn't want to spend his birthday with Tony? What if this was just over the top and awkward and what if, after this, the kid stopped coming around as much? This is what he'd been afraid of from the beginning, ever since realizing how sweet and earnest and good this kid was. Tony could never maintain relationships with people like Peter...he always ruined them. Always drove them away. And now that he cared so much for Peter...now that he practically loved the kid, he had no idea how he was going to survive losing him.

He was just about to take the balloons down…to start throwing away all these ridiculous invitations and throw out the lopsided two layer cake with messy blue frosting and Peter's name written in sloppy, haphazard red icing, when the elevator chimed and Peter stepped out into the living room. Tony froze, dropping his hands from where they'd been about to grab the cake, and cursed himself for not keeping track of the time. The kid had been a little early recently, probably because he'd been swinging to the tower from school instead of waiting for the bus. He should have known! He should have planned this better.

Peter stood stock-still in the living room, wide eyes taking in the balloons and the banner, then finally falling on the cake and the wrapped box. "Is...Mr. Stark, is this...for me?" he asked haltingly.

"Uh…" Tony forced a smile onto his face. He could save this. He could brush it all off and tell the kid that it had just been a joke. "Yeah, kid. I…"

But before he could say anything else, his arms were full of a bouncy teenager squeezing him so hard that he thought the kid might have broken a rib...not that he minded. The relief he felt was so great that he could barely breathe anyway. Let the kid break his ribs if he wanted.

"You did all this for me?" The kid pulled away, the smile on his face so wide and disbelieving that Tony had to chuckle.

"Yeah, Pete. Happy birthday."

Peter turned to the cake then, and Tony started to cringe, but Peter looked back to him with stars in his eyes. "And you made this? For me?"

"Well, it does say Peter on it so…"

The kid threw his arms around him again, and this time Tony patted his back, ruffling his hair with his other hand. "You didn't have to do this, Mr. Stark!"

"You only turn seventeen once, buddy. I thought we'd make it special." He hesitated, then couldn't help the self-deprecating comment. "Sorry the cake's a mess…"

Peter pulled away, wide-eyed and almost offended. "It's not a mess! It's the best cake ever! Can we have some?"

For a moment, an irrational part of Tony's mind told him that Peter was messing with him. Making fun of him. But Tony dismissed that part of him immediately. This was Peter Parker. The kid didn't have a mean bone in his body, and his face was 100% earnest. He loved the cake. He loved it because Tony had made it for him. "Of course you can. It's your cake, buddy."

They both cut themselves huge slices of cake, carrying them into the living room amongst the balloons and Tony turned the TV to the Office where they rewatched the Dinner Party episode for the thousandth time, Peter laughing at all the same places as the first time they'd watched it. Tony had been a little nervous about sharing one of his favorite shows with the kid, sure the boy had either seen it before, or that he wouldn't like it...that he'd think it was lame or too old or too simple. But the kid had loved it from minute one, and it had become their tradition to watch it together, always picking up where they'd left off. Peter had cried at the finale, wiping his eyes subtly when one character had told the camera that he wished there was a way to know that you were in the good old days before they were gone.

Tony had cried too, glancing down at Peter and knowing that this right here, this time spent with this kid that he was growing to love like his own son...this was the time he would always look back on. And sitting beside Peter on his birthday and watching the kid laugh and stuff his face with cake...Tony knew that this was the beauty in ordinary things another character would talk about in the finale. This was the thing he'd always remember.

When they were finally done with the cake, Tony grabbed Peter's present and dropped it onto the boy's lap, scooting back so that he could face Peter and pausing the TV. "Alright, kiddo. Let's see what you think."

Peter looked down at the little box, cocking his head, then smiling up at Tony. "Mr. Stark, you didn't have to…"

Tony waved him away. "Yeah yeah, I know. Just open it, Pete. You're killing me with anticipation here."

Peter laughed, then tore into the wrapping paper, pulling out the web-shooters with a confused head tilt that made him look like a puppy. "Oh...did you...you improved my web-shooters?"

Tony chuckled. "Even I couldn't improve your original design much. Stand up and put them on." The kid did as he was told, putting them on and standing in the middle of the room, watching Tony with something like nervous anticipation. "Now say Karen."

Peter tilted his head again, that confused smile still on his face. "Okay. Uh...Karen?"

The suit did exactly as Tony had hoped, the nanites bleeding out from the web-shooters and covering the wide-eyed boy with his red and black suit, the nanites moving twice as fast as they did in Tony's suit, covering the kid so quickly that it barely took five seconds for the kid to be completely encased. "Bleeding edge. What do you think?" Tony asked with a grin, crossing his arms a little proudly.

"Mr. Stark...it smells like a new car in here!" Tony laughed, but the kid wasn't done, practically hopping in excitement. "This is so cool! Is this nanotech? I thought you weren't even done putting it in your suit?!"

He wasn't. Peter had become priority number one the moment he'd turned down a spot on the Avengers. Tony was going to protect his kid. At all costs.

"And Karen! You put her in here too!"

"Of course I did. I know you love her."

The kid lifted his hands and Tony figured he was staring at the interface. "Woah...how did you even come up with more web-shooter combinations?"

Tony grinned. "I'm basically Pepper's trophy husband, so I have a lot of free time. If you want the suit to retract, just think about it."

The lenses on the iron spider suit closed, and he had to hold back laughter as the suit retracted, revealing Peter's 'concentrating' face. When he opened his eyes, he stared down at his own skin incredulously. "This...Mr Stark, this is the coolest present ever!" He cried, practically jumping up and down, and this time Tony was prepared for the hug. He stood up, wrapping his arms around Peter and patting him on the back as the kid hopped in place. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, buddy. I'm glad you like it. I figured it was time for an upgrade." He stepped back, hands on Peter's shoulders as he grinned at the boy who wasn't so much a boy anymore. He was a young man. And Tony was so, so proud of him. "Happy birthday, Peter."

They never made it down to the lab that day. Instead they watched the Office and ate more cake. They ordered pizza and Peter ate most of the cake for dessert, and then Peter insisted on getting a picture of the two of them with all of the balloons. Tony put up a token protest, but in the end, he was happy to let the kid drag him over to the balloon bouquets, the two of them smiling at the camera, his arm around Peter as the boy took the picture. And then they went back to watching TV on the sofa, Peter eventually dozing off on Tony's shoulder thanks to the copious amounts of sugar and bread he'd eaten. He ended up spending the night, and the next day, he invited Tony to tag along with him and May for Peter's official birthday dinner.

Peter texted him a copy of the picture they'd taken later, and Tony had it framed, placing it on his desk where it would remain for the rest of his long life.

_**Thank you for reading! **_


	18. Presumed Dead

_****Trigger warning for mentions of attempted suicide****_

Presumed dead.

The first text from Peter didn't wake Tony. It had been a late night of trying to get Morgan to sleep with bedtime stories and juice pops and outright begging. And then he'd gone to the lab, trying to get some Stark Industries work done. And finally, finally, at three in the morning, he had gone to sleep. Later, he would see that the first text from Peter came at 3:30am, the second at 3:35 am, and that the one from May came at 4:00am, just two hours before Morgan usually woke him. The phone buzzed on his bedside table and Tony slept, dreaming dreams he would never be able to remember.

The world was saved. He was retired. And something was wrong with Peter. He'd known it for a few weeks now. The kid had been quiet, almost withdrawn, nothing like before...before the snap and before he had been both dead and not dead. Before all of that, Peter had been laughter and constant motion and big smiles and so much brilliance in one kid...but now he was different. Oh, he still smiled at Tony, and he'd told Morgan that it was nice to meet her. He had told Tony that he was happy for May now that she was dating again, and happy that she had her own charity and he was proud of how much she was helping.

It had been noticeable before the whole Mysterio debacle. Now it was worse. He didn't patrol anymore...his original suit had been destroyed and the one Tony had given him, the Iron Spider suit, sat unused in his room according to May. His grades were slipping a little. Not enough to keep him out of MIT, but enough that May and Tony were worried. And he never wanted to come to the lake house anymore.

That last part had hurt Tony the most. But more than that, it had worried him. The kid had been pulling away ever since Europe and Tony didn't know why but it scared him. So he'd asked May if Peter could take a week off of school at the end of the month to spend at the lake house. He would try then, Tony thought. He would figure out what was wrong with his kid and he would fix it, because that's what he did. He fixed things. He was a mechanic after all. Peter would be okay. The kid was always okay. This was just a rough patch.

The phone rang at 5:30, but it was on vibrate, so it only buzzed on the table. He woke briefly, but didn't check to see who was calling. He was so tired...he had to start getting to bed earlier now that he was old. No way Morgan would let him sleep in. She was too excited about Peter visiting and too excited about life in general. She had no idea how close she had come to losing him...how close she had come to losing everything to Thanos. But, Tony reminded himself as he rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, she would never have to.

The phone ran again and again, and he dreamed of bees and humming until Pepper grabbed his shoulder, shaking him hard. "Tony!" She practically screamed his name, and her tone had him sitting upright in seconds.

"What? What?" he asked, staring up at her tear-stained cheeks. "Pep? What's wrong?" He demanded, scanning the room for Morgan. But of course his daughter was asleep in her room. The clock told him it was barely 6.

"You have to get to the hospital...now…" She was choking on her words, a hand covering her mouth and part of her red, blotchy cheeks. "I'll get someone to watch Morgan…"

"Why? What's going on?" Tony demanded, reaching out and taking her hands. "Pep, what's wrong? Who's in the hospital?"

"Tony…" She shook her head, closing her eyes and more tears spilled down her cheeks and ran over her hands. "It's...it's Peter…"

"What?" His voice was dry like sandpaper, and just getting the word out was almost impossible. That didn't make any sense. Why would Peter be in the hospital? He grabbed his phone that told him he'd missed two calls and a text from May Parker...and two texts from Peter. He started at the bottom, looking at May's text.

"Tony! Please call me! It's Peter!"

Then he looked at the ones from Peter.

"Mr. Stark? Are you awake?"

And then, five minutes later.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Stark."

He stared at the words until they blurred together, none of it making any sense. "Was...was he in the suit? How...what happened?" Without realizing it, he'd thrown his legs over the side of the bed and was starting to stand, a hand reaching out to touch Pepper's arm in an attempt to comfort her. She just shook her head.

"He wasn't in the suit."

"Then what…"

"He took all of his pain pills."

Those words hit Tony hard, and his knees folded, landing him back on the bed once more. No...no, Peter knew better. If he was hurt he would have just taken one. They were strong enough...Peter knew that. He knew that those pain pills were strong and a bottle held thirty so if he took all of them...he knew. Tony knew what she was saying, suddenly, and it knocked the breath out of him.

Why hadn't he pushed? He'd known something was wrong. He'd known that Peter had been going through something big and he'd known that things must be hard on the kid after literally coming back to life and he'd known all this but he hadn't...he hadn't tried…

"He's alive. For now...he's alive. We have to get to the hospital…" Pepper whispered, trying to speak through her tears. "Now...May and Happy are already there but we have to…"

Tony nodded, lurching to his feet and dressing in a daze. Pepper would meet him later but he had to drive there now. By himself. Peter had taken all of his pain pills. Peter had tried to text him. He'd been asleep and Peter had tried to reach out to him. He'd apologized. Just like Titan.

Peter had tried to kill himself.

He cried as he drove, tears that dripped down his face without him noticing much. He'd let Peter down. He'd let him down in the worst way...he'd brought him back to life only to let this happen. Peter had needed him and he'd...Tony shook his head hard, wiping his hand roughly across his face. No. He didn't have time for that. He had to get to Peter and May and he would talk to the kid and figure out what was wrong and he'd fix it and...and Peter would be okay. His kid was going to be okay. He had to be okay. Tony had already tried living in a world without Peter. He didn't think he could bear to do it again.

Why hadn't he checked on him more? Why had he worried so much about hovering?

May was sitting next to Happy in the waiting room, and he spotted them before they spotted him. He hurried to May's side, dropping into the chair beside her, and she finally looked up, showing off red-rimmed eyes and cheeks covered in mascara. "I couldn't...couldn't get you so...I called...Sam and…"

Tony nodded, reaching out and grasping her hand. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't answer the phone. I was asleep."

"Sam...he got Doctor Strange and they...they brought him here…". She swallowed, shaking her head. "He wasn't breathing…". Her voice broke then, and she covered her face with her hands, Happy moving to put a hand on her arm. "I didn't find him until 4...I got up to go...to the...bathroom and he…"

Happy pulled on her shoulder, letting her hide her face in his chest as he turned to Tony. "I gave him CPR until Sam got there. Strange is with him. They had to pump his stomach and they're not sure how much damage was done. He was having trouble breathing…"

Tony just nodded, not sure what the hell else he was supposed to do. Strange was with him. Doctor Strange was one of the best but Helen was his doctor. Pulling out his phone, he sent her a quick text.

"He...he's been acting so strange and…". May tried to take a deep breath and calm down, but it wasn't working. "I thought...I thought it was just...after he came back and…". She gave up, shaking her head and covering her face with her hands. "He wasn't moving...he was just laying on the floor…"

Tony wanted her to stop. He didn't want to imagine it. Didn't want to picture Peter Parker dead on his bathroom floor. "He tried to text me…I was asleep."

No one had an answer for that.

Doctor Strange emerged from the hallway after a moment, going straight to Tony and May, his face as somber as ever, but there was a sadness in his eyes that hit Tony right in the gut. "He hasn't regained consciousness, but we were able to purge the drugs from his system for the most part. His healing ability is definitely working in his favor." The man hesitated, lowering his voice. "Does Peter have a history of any kind of drug abuse?"

May shook her head, adamant. "Nothing. You can ask Helen. He never…we kept them in the medicine cabinet and he never…"

Happy squeezed her hand when her words cut off in a sob, and Tony had never wanted Pepper so badly in his life.

"Something's been off...he's been pulling away lately and...I should have tried to talk to him. I should have tried harder." Tony whispered the words as if admitting defeat.

"When he wakes, I want to place him on suicide watch for 24 hours. If you can get him to talk to you, that would be ideal. If not, I believe Sam can recommend someone."

Tony and May both nodded, and Strange led them back to Peter's room just as Tony got a text that Helen was on her way. Happy had volunteered to wait outside, since Stephen didn't want too many people in his room at once, and Tony had to grab at the door frame when he saw the boy laying in the hospital bed. He'd obviously lost weight, with his cheekbones sticking out and bruise-like shadows under his eyes telling Tony that he hadn't been sleeping. He had a tube going down his throat, breathing for him, and a blanket was pulled up to his neck, arms resting at his sides. An IV ran from the inside of one of his elbows, and although he had a little color in his face, he was still so pale.

May practically collapsed in a chair at his side, and Tony knew, as he sat down at Peter's side, that they would have to talk. That they would have to find a way to get Peter to explain to them what was going on. No matter what it took, he didn't think he could survive this twice, and he knew May couldn't. They had to fix their boy. Somehow.

It wasn't until an hour had passed that Tony thought to ask Karen. Sure, Peter hadn't been in the suit recently, but he could have her check his phone and see if there were any clues there. So, excusing himself and telling May he was going to find her some food, he headed outside, then found a deserted corner to pop an earbud in, bringing up Peter's phone display on his own, not feeling remotely guilty about it. If invading his kid's privacy got him answers, then he'd do it. Gladly. After connecting to Karen, he brought up the voice command. "Hi, Karen."

"Hello, Mr. Stark. How can I be of assistance?"

"Pete...um...Peter tried to kill himself tonight." He whispered the words, closing his eyes to hold the tears back. No time for tears. Not now. First he had to help Peter. "I want to see anything on his phone that might explain why."

"Would you like to see the logs of his correspondence with me that he began after his trip to Europe?"

Tony didn't hesitate. "Yeah. Bring it all up."

The video diary started with Peter in his room, knees to his chest, obviously in bed. He was holding the phone with a shaky hand, eyes looking anywhere but at the screen. "Hey, Karen." He whispered.

"Hello, Peter. Your vitals suggest that you are on the verge of a panic attack. Would you like me to call Mr. Stark?"

Peter shook his head on the screen. "No...no, just...um...can you talk to me? For a little while? About anything. Please."

"Would you like to hear tips on how to calm down after a nightmare?" On the screen, the boy closed his eyes, and then the screen went dark.

The next entry was the next night. "Karen? Can you tell me some of those tips please?"

That's how it went for a few days, Peter waking up and talking to Karen, asking her to help him calm down and shaking his head every time she suggested calling for help. And then, almost a week later, Peter brought up the screen and he wasn't in his bed. He was in what looked like a bathroom, head pressed against a tile wall. "Karen?"

"Yes, Peter?"

"I can't breathe...Karen…"

"Would you like for me to call…

"Stop asking that!" Peter snapped, closing his eyes as a tear ran down his cheek. "He's...he's busy Karen! He has a real family now! He doesn't have time to…"

That's when it hit Tony. Peter hadn't come to him because he didn't see himself as Tony's family. He didn't understand how much Tony loved him...how important he was despite the fact that there was another child in the picture now. How had Tony missed that? How hadn't he made it abundantly clear.

The recordings went on, with Peter suffering from more and more panic attacks, more and more nightmares, until the recording from that night.

Peter sat on the floor of the bathroom, hollow eyed and shaking. He was crying, but didn't seem to notice. "Karen?"

"Yes, Peter?"

"I can't..I don't know what to do."

"Would you like to call for assistance?"

"It's crushing me...everything...the nightmares and...and I can't even go one day…"

"Peter, would you like…"

"I don't belong here." The boy said it like it was a revelation, eyes widening as he looked at the camera for the first time. "I was supposed to stay dead."

"Peter…"

"Mr. Stark has his family and May has Happy and I'm supposed to be dead."

Tony shook his head despite the fact that it was a recording...despite the fact that it had all already happened.

"Peter, might I suggest…" Karen tried, but Peter went on, something manic and desperate in his eyes.

"They're all so worried about me. It would be better...Karen….". He sobbed out her name, closing his eyes. "Karen, would it be better?"

"Peter, I believe you need to call for help."

He nodded, swallowing hard. "Okay….um….can you just text Mr. Stark? Ask him if he's awake?"

Then, five minutes of torturous silence. Because Tony knew what happened next. He'd been awake. Slowly, the hope in Peter's eyes faded.

"Peter, I believe he might be asleep. Should I call him? That might wake him."

Peter on the screen shook his head. "No….um….don't do that. Just text him? Um...just say, I'm so sorry, Mr. Stark." His voice broke, and he was barely able to get the name out.

Peter waited for almost five more minutes, something so heartbreakingly hopeful in his eyes as Tony felt his heart break in his chest. He hadn't answered. He'd been asleep. He hadn't pushed hard enough and he hadn't been there and now…

Then Peter stood on shaky legs, wiping at his eyes. "Karen?"

"Peter, I must insist you…"

"Power off."

Tony stared at the black screen and had to swallow the scream. How had he missed it? How had they all missed it? He'd returned from the dead and had been in a major battle with a deranged lunatic all within a two month span...of course the kid hadn't been okay!

But Tony has wanted him to be okay so badly.

May was asleep when he returned to the boy's room, and he sat in his own plastic chair, gripping Peter's hand and resigning himself to wait. But Peter was going to wake up, and when he did, Tony was going to be there. Hell, the kid would be begging him to leave his side before long. But never again was Peter going to think that he didn't belong.

On the bed, Peter flinched a little in his drug-induced sleep, head moving to the side as much as the tube would allow.

Tony leaned forward."I'm right here, buddy. You're not alone." He squeezed the cold hand resting in his. "I've got you, Pete."

_**Thanks for reading!**_


	19. Glass

_**Due to the many requests, today's fic is a sequel to yesterday's, Presumed Dead. :) I hope you enjoy!**_

Glass

Led Zeppelin blared through the radio as Tony eased his foot off the gas, glancing over at the boy beside him. Peter sat in the passenger seat, forehead resting on the window, eyes staring blankly out the window. Neither of them had spoken in a while, and Tony remembered when their silences had been comfortable. When the two of them had spent hours together every week. But that had been before. Before the snap and before Tony had managed to bring Peter back to life along with the rest of the half of the universe and before Peter had swallowed twenty-eight pain pills.

Before May had found him on the floor of their bathroom. Before Happy had given him CPR until Sam and Doctor Strange had arrived.

That had been almost a week ago.

After watching the videos of Peter talking to Karen, Tony had gone to Peter's side and hadn't really left it since, other than to video chat with Morgan, or to step out of the room when Stephen Strange or May wanted to talk to Peter alone, which they'd done a few times since the boy had woken up.

Peter had woken in the middle of the afternoon, coming to slowly a few hours after the breathing tube had been removed. Strange had explained that usually they would use restraints on patients who might present a suicide risk, but Tony had vetoed the idea, with May backing him up. If Peter woke up restrained, he'd be even more freaked out than he was already going to be. Instead, they'd promised to stay with him at all times. To try and talk to him.

He'd started to stir, just a little at first, with his fingers twitching in Tony's hand, head moving a little from side to side. "Hey, bud. You with us?" Tony had asked, leaning in. May, who had stepped away only to wash her face and change into regular clothes, had sat upright, fighting the tears that had filled her eyes and wiping them away as quickly as she could. Peter had groaned, a hand moving to his stomach that Tony knew must be sore. He remembered the good old days of having his stomach pumped all too well. He also remembered waking up alone after nearly drinking himself to death. He remembered the voicemail from his father, asking what the hell he'd been thinking. He remembered his mother's disappointed silence. Most of all, he remembered how Rhodey had thrown his arms around him when he'd picked him up from the hospital and his best friend's words.

"I'm so glad you're okay."

When Peter had finally peeled his eyes open, looking more bewildered than anything, Tony had leaned in and placed a hand on his cheek. "Hey, buddy. There you are." Peter had blinked at him, looking around the room, confusion and worry warring in his eyes, but Tony had just shaken his head. "It's okay. You're alright. Just take it easy, okay? Here...drink this." He'd handed Peter a cup of water, sliding a hand under the back of his neck to help him sit up, and the kid had flinched when he'd done so, that hand going back to his stomach. "I know you're sore, Pete. Drink this. It'll make you feel better." Tony hadn't known if that was true, but he'd said it anyway, helping Peter drink, then easing him back to the bed.

And that's when it had hit the kid.

Tony had watched the knowledge slam into him like a train, high speed and ruthless, and immediately his eyes had filled with tears. "May?" Peter had asked, turning to her like a toddler would turn to his mom for comfort, and she had leaned in, biting down hard on her lip as she'd pulled him into his arms, a hand pressed to the back of his hair desperately, as if someone would take her boy away. "I'm sorry...May...I'm so sorry…"

"I know, baby. It's alright. You're going to be okay."

"I didn't...I didn't know what to do and...I just...it was so stupid I'm…" He had gasped out his words, hands shaking, and Tony had shifted to sit on the bed, resting a steady hand on Peter's back and hoping that his voice could be just as steady...that it wouldn't give away his anguish and terror.

"We know. It's alright, Pete. We can talk about it. It's okay."

"Mr. Stark...you shouldn't...you shouldn't be here…" Peter had whispered, and Tony had shoved back the hurt...had shoved back the childish urge to leave to spare his own feelings. This had been the problem in the first place. He hadn't pushed hard enough. Hadn't hovered enough. Hadn't made sure that his kid knew exactly how important he was.

"Peter, I don't know if you know this, but if my kid's in the hospital, that's where I'm going to be."

Peter had blinked at him a few times, shaking his head as if clearing it. "But Morgan…"

"Is going to be fine without me for a little bit. She and Pepper are going to do 'mommy daughter' things, whatever that means." He'd forced a little smile. "And I'm going to make sure her brother is okay." Peter had looked like he'd wanted to argue. But he hadn't. He'd just dropped his eyes, looking impossibly small and so tired, and Tony had ruffled his hair. "You're going to have to talk to the doctor at some point. Us too. We've got to make sure nothing like this ever happens again. Okay?"

And that's when Peter had started to withdraw again.

Not from May. Not really. He'd answered her questions with an honesty that Tony knew had hurt her. It had hurt him too. The boy had admitted to feeling alone and scared, to the nightmares and the panic attacks. He'd admitted to feeling left out of his own family, now that she had Happy. But he hadn't said a word about Tony and his family. And when it had come time for May to leave for work that night, which Peter insisted she do, he'd responded to all of Tony's small talk.

But Tony had had no idea how to talk to him about this. Not really. Things had always been pretty easy with Peter, at least after he'd gotten past the urge to push the kid away to protect him. Peter had loved spending time with him and they'd had a great time working in the lab and watching movies together and just spending time together. So now, when Peter made polite small talk with him like he was a stranger, he had no idea how to respond to that. He didn't want to upset the kid, not when he was laying in a hospital bed with an IV hooked up to his arm. And he didn't want to push Peter even further away.

That's when he'd gotten the idea. He'd have Peter over to the lake house. It would be just the two of them, plus Friday who was under strict instructions to monitor Peter every second of every day, and alert Tony to any suicidal or self-destructive behaviors. Stephen and Helen had released Peter after three days in the hospital, and after only being home for two days, during which he'd stayed home from school and May had stayed home from work, Tony had dropped by his apartment to pick him up.

He and Peter were going to talk, damn it, if it was the last thing Tony did.

"What do you think?" Tony asked, gesturing to the radio and glancing over at Peter once more. The kid hadn't protested against the idea of going to the lake house, exactly. But he hadn't looked thrilled either. More resigned. And that was something that Tony didn't understand but he was determined to break through to the kid. Somehow.

"Huh?"

"The song. What do you think?" Before all of this, Tony and Peter had talked about everything, from music to Peter's crush on the 'really scary but really pretty MJ,' and Tony just wanted some sense of normalcy. He knew that the kid was tired of everyone watching him every minute of every day...that he felt guilty about what he'd done. So Tony decided to try to make things normal as they drove through the forest.

"Reminds me of Thor."

Tony lifted his eyebrows as Immigrant Song played at an enhanced-spider-sense approved level. "Thor?"

A tiny smile lifted the corners of Peter's lips, and Tony took it as a win, no matter how confused he was. "Yeah. I think he'd like it."

Tony snorted. The kid had barely met Thor...just for a few minutes after the battle at the compound which was still being rebuilt from a twisted wreck. But Tony was just glad to see the kid smiling, even if it was just a little. "If you say so. The next time he's around, we'll play it for him."

Peter gave a halfhearted nod, lips twitching a little. He wasn't there, though. Tony could see it in his face. Peter wasn't really there with him. His was somewhere else, and Tony had no idea how to fix it. No idea how to wake him up...to shake him out of this. No idea what was actually causing it. How did he prove to the kid that he wanted to be there for him? How was that something that needed proving?

"So...Morgan and Pepper are on a little vacation all weekend...it's just you and me for a few days. What do you want to do?"

Peter was silent, forehead still resting on the window as the trees rushed by. The road they were on circled one of the lakes in the area, and Peter stared at it like it held the secrets to the universe. The lake his own house bordered was still a few miles away, but they'd be there in time for lunch. Tony was planning on making pancakes...the kid's favorite. Or, one of his favorites.

"I've got the lab set up," Tony went on. "We can play around with nanotech if you want. Or take a look at Friday's movie database. Get you caught up. Or take the canoe out. Can spiders swim?" He asked with a twitch of his lip, a desperate smile, and Peter huffed out a tiny laugh.

"I can swim."

"Good. Pepper insisted we get a million life jackets, and she taught Morgan to swim when she was practically an infant...some weird mother daughter water aerobics class. But I won't make you wear one."

Peter was still smiling, just a little, but his eyes drifted away from Tony and he went back to staring at the lake.

Tony went back to searching for something to talk about...anything that didn't involve the snap or May and Happy or anything else that could upset Peter. "So...how's your scary girlfriend?"

Peter's lip twitched again. "MJ's fine."

Tony turned to him after glancing at the road. "Have you talked to her since…"

"Tony!" The sharp use of his first name took Tony aback, and all he managed to do was glance over at Peter and watch his hand reach out for the steering wheel when something slammed into them, throwing Tony against the airbag that burst out of the steering wheel, and he turned his head to see the boy's head slam into the window hard enough to crack the glass...and then the car was rolling.

Tony's eyes snapped open and he realized something was wrong. The car smelled like the dust from airbags and they were...moving. Sinking. Looking around, he saw Peter first, the boy's head limp, chin to his chest, the window covered in blood and cracks beside him, and just beyond him...the lake.

Tony was wet. He glanced down, everything coming to him in pieces, and then he gasped, fighting desperately to undo his seat belt, then Peter's. "Pete! Peter! Wake up!" He cried, his throat so dry it hurt. The car was in the lake. They were sinking. They were sinking fast and the water was up to his lap and he managed to get his seatbelt off only to grab the door handle...but it wouldn't budge. The water pressure held it fast, and the front of the car was a crumpled wreck, but the windshield was only cracked, not broken. They couldn't get out that way either. "No no no...kid!" He turned back to Peter just as the water hit his chest, the car tilting forward. "Peter!"

With shaking hands, Tony grabbed Peter's seat belt and unclicked it, struggling to move through the dirty water that filled the car. His phone was in his pocket...he was sure Peter's was too. Neither was waterproof. He swore as he shook Peter's shoulder, the kid's head falling limply to the side, that he was going to make the new Stark phone waterproof if it was the last thing he did. "Peter! Please! Come on, kid!" He smacked the kid's cheek, feeling bad about it even as he did it. "Please!" He tried the door again, panic threatening to take over.

And then, as the water hit his chin and Peter's face, the kid jerked awake, sitting ramrod straight and turning to Tony with horror in his eyes. "Mr. Sta…"

The water was up to their chins, their mouths, and then covering their faces completely. And Peter just stared.

For a horrific second, Tony thought Peter was going to give up...to accept the death he'd wanted a week ago. But then Peter sat up even straighter, gasping for the last bit of air along with Tony right before turning to his window, pulling back a fist, and shattering it on the first try. Grabbing the window ledge, he pulled himself out of the car, and Tony felt a moment of relief. Peter was okay. Peter was going to make it out. Even if he didn't…

There was a tapping at the glass before Tony could even finish that thought, and he instinctively leaned back out of the way as Peter's fist came through his window. The kid grabbed the glass that was left, pulling hard and yanking it out of the window as blood filled the water around them. Peter didn't seem to notice, reaching out for Tony with bloody hands and grabbing his arm. He'd made sure there was no glass, Tony realized as the kid pulled him through the opening, so that he wouldn't cut himself. They swam together, Peter doing most of the work, until they broke the surface with twin gasps.

"Pete? Kid, you okay?" Tony asked, turning to the boy who had his arm around him, practically dragging him through the water and toward the muddy shore.

Peter nodded, still gasping for air, and as soon as they were on the shore, the kid's knees buckled and the two fell together, sprawling out in the mud. Tony reached out and gripped his arm, needing to touch the kid. Needing to know that he was okay. That he was physically there. That this wasn't like Titan. But Peter seemed to be focused on breathing, sitting on his hands and knees and sinking just a little in the mud. The kid's face had a streak of mud on it, but Tony was filthy too, so he didn't bother trying to wipe it off.

"Pete? Kiddo, talk to me. Are you okay?" Tony practically begged, coughing between words and trying to catch his breath.

The boy looked up at him with tear-filled eyes and shook his head. "I don't know if I can do it anymore." Peter gasped out the words, looking suddenly as though he was going to break, hands bleeding from where he'd grabbed the glass. "Tony...I don't think I can do it anymore." He was crying, tears mixing with the water that soaked him from head to toe, and Tony sat up, reaching out for his shoulders and shaking his head, an icy fear gripping his chest.

"Do what, Pete?"

"I don't know if I can be Spiderman anymore." It was whispered like a secret...like the most shameful secret in the world, but Tony only nodded, reaching up to cup Peter's cheek as they sat together in the mud.

"Okay. Hell, kid, it's going to do wonders for my cardiogram if you give up the vigilante work."

And then Peter was crying, full-body sobs shaking him as his arms gave out, and Tony had to lean forward to catch him, worrying only briefly about the cuts on his hand getting infected from the mud now covering them.

"Easy...it's okay. It's okay, buddy." Tony held him as best he could, letting Peter bury his face in his shoulder. "Pete...it's okay. No one would blame you for wanting to take a break."

"What...what if I…" Peter started, nearly crying too hard to speak, but Tony waited. "What if I can never...do it again?"

"Then you work for Stark Industries and probably live longer," Tony told him, squeezing him hard. But Peter only cried harder, apparently not in the mood to laugh, and that's when it hit him. Pulling away, he held Peter by the shoulders, then reached up and gripped Peter's chin to make him look at him. "Hey. You're my kid. Peter?" The boy hiccuped, obviously trying to stop crying, but Tony went on regardless. "I love you. I love you just like I love Morgan. You're both my kids. In every way that matters, you are a son to me. Just like Rhodey is my brother, you are my son. I love you. I love you if you decide to be Spiderman and I love you if you don't. I love you if you're depressed and when you're happy and when you have panic attacks and when you get pissed at me for hovering too much because that's probably going to happen real soon." He cupped Peter's cheek and smiled a little when Peter did, the kid's expression so heartbreakingly hopeful. "I love you so much. I didn't think it was possible to love someone this much, but god, Pete, did you prove me wrong. I have loved you since...I don't even know. Before the snap. Before Titan and Thanos. And I'm going to love you until I die, whether or not you decide to keep being a superhero."

The boy surged forward, throwing his arms around Tony and sobbing even harder, but this time it was a release, and Tony just held him, rocking him back and forth in the mud. "I love you too...I'm so sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry, buddy. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you all this earlier."

"I scared you."

"Damn right you scared me. But I know what it's like, kid. I get it...but please, please...if you ever feel that way again, please come to me. Call me. Again and again. Until I answer. Because I swear, if you need me, I'm there. No matter what."

He felt Peter nod against his shoulders and squeezed him as tightly as he could.

_**Thank you for reading! **_


	20. Freeze to Death

_**A huge thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed! Your reviews make my day!**_

_Freeze to death_

Peter lay on his back on the sofa in Mr. Stark's living room, flinching at the pain when he tried to shift a little. His back was killing him and he knew it was almost time for another dose of pain medicine, but Mr. Stark was putting Morgan down for a nap and he didn't want to bug him. He hadn't wanted to spend his convalescence at the cabin in the first place, but Mr. Stark and Pepper had insisted, and May hadn't been able to take off work.

It had been a close thing, apparently. The spinal fracture could have easily been fatal, Helen had told him. As it was, he'd be in bed for at least two more weeks, going from a wheelchair to crutches until maybe, a month from then, he'd be able to start walking. Maybe, Helen had stressed. It could take longer. At first, Peter had been okay with this since he'd been drugged to the gills and mostly asleep. But then he'd had it all explained to him again, and he was a little less enthusiastic.

Peter was glad that he had Mr. Stark. He was grateful that the man still obviously loved him and that he was okay with having Peter around, but he also felt bad. It couldn't be fun to have an injured teen taking up permanent residence on his sofa. The man didn't seem to mind though...in fact, he seemed happy to have Peter there, spending hours on the sofa with him, or helping him into the wheelchair or, the worst, helping him to the bathroom. But he never complained or even seemed a little put out. Instead, he almost seemed to enjoy time with Peter. No...not almost. He did. He came down to spend time with him every day, sometimes followed by Morgan who had been instructed several times to be extra careful with him, and sometimes Pepper would join them too, always looking concerned but never upset with his presence, running her fingers through his hair and asking how he was feeling. It was nice. Well, as nice as being bedridden could be, he supposed.

The hand on Peter's hair startled him, and he jumped a little, only to find the man standing over him. "Hey, bud. You ready for some more meds?"

He nodded drowsily, knowing the pain medicine would send him right to sleep, meaning he now took naps just like Morgan. But at least when he was asleep, it didn't hurt so bad.

"Here you go." Mr. Stark put a hand behind his back and eased him up, then handed him the pills and a glass of water. Outside, Peter could see the snow piling up and wanted to ask if it was supposed to storm but he was just so sleepy. Had the news said? The TV had been playing the weather earlier that morning but he couldn't quite remember through the haze of sleep and pain pills. "Get some rest buddy. Your body needs all the sleep it can get. And the next time you think about fighting any octopus themed villains alone, remember this."

Mr. Stark had been so scared. Peter vaguely remembered his mentor on the ground beside him, holding his head as he'd coughed up blood. "It's okay...it's okay, buddy. Just hang on. Please...please, Pete...stay with me." Mr. Stark had sat there, begging and sobbing as he'd held Peter's head in his lap, combing his fingers through his bloody hair until Helen had arrived. "Please...please, he has to be okay please…" The man had prayed aloud, hunching over Peter, their foreheads touching as Mr. Stark had cried. "Please, he has to be okay. I can't lose him. Not again."

And then, every time Peter had woken up in the hospital or, later, in his room at the lakehouse, Mr. Stark had been there, holding his hand and brushing his hair back. Promising that he was okay. That he wasn't alone. May was there too, at first, but then Peter had woken up alone for the first time in his bedroom at Mr. Stark's lake house. That had been a week ago. Mr. Stark had come in a few minutes later, explaining everything and promising that it wouldn't be so bad. That he'd be okay. And then Morgan had been allowed to come in, and she'd been placed very gently on the bed beside him with multiple warnings to be careful with her big brother.

Peter dozed off after only a few minutes, and woke only briefly to eat the dinner that Pepper brought him. She asked if he wanted to go upstairs to his room to sleep and, not wanting to keep them out of their living room, he nodded. He was mostly able to get himself into the wheelchair, despite the fact that it was killing his back to do so, and with her help, he managed to get himself into his room where he assured her that he could take care of the rest. And he could...it would hurt like hell but he could do it.

He managed to change into pajamas and use the bathroom on his own, not wanting to alert Mr. Stark. The man was, according to Karen, downstairs in his lab working on something, so he figured he could just slip into bed and let another day be over. The meds were already making him tired again, which Mr. Stark and Helen had both assured him was normal, so he got himself into bed and under the one blanket he could pull back, giving up on the rest when it just hurt his back.

When Peter woke, he wasn't sure exactly what had woken him. It was quiet in the lake house, and outside his window, everything was white. He started to sit up, forgetting for a second that his back was killing him. He froze, dropping back down on the pillow and taking a deep breath. It wasn't as bad as it had been before, but it was still bad enough to freeze him in place...speaking of freezing, Peter tugged on the blanket and tried to pull it up higher. It was so cold. "Friday?" He asked, wiping a hand over his face. "Fri?"

No answer. Sighing and pulling the blanket up a little more, he shivered in the cold. He tried to go back to sleep, but all he managed was a fitful doze before a hand touched his shoulder, shaking him out of sleep. "Huh?" He asked, eyes flying open, only to find Morgan standing by his bed. "Hey, Mo...what's wrong?"

"I'm freezing to death."

Peter couldn't hold back the snort at her solemn little face. "Yeah?" She certainly got her father's dramatics. He glanced over at his digital clock only to find it was blank. "I think the power's out."

"Can I sleep in here with you?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Sure."

As carefully as she could, Morgan climbed into the bed beside him, snuggling up to his side under the covers. "Are you still hurt?" she whispered.

"Yeah," he admitted.

"Am I hurting you?"

He shook his head, wrapping an arm around her. "Nah. You're okay. Get some sleep."

When he woke again, it was to Mr. Stark laying something over him. "Hm?" He asked blearily, shivering a little even under the covers.

"Hey, bud. Power's out. I don't want you turning into a popsicle." He tucked the blanket around Peter's shoulders, reaching out to stroke Morgan's hair. "When did she get in here?"

"Don't know...clock doesn't work." Peter snuggled under the blankets a little more, eyes drooping, and Tony smiled.

"The power might not come back on for a while. One of the perks of living out in the middle of nowhere." He disappeared for a second, then came with another blanket, piling it on top of the other two. "How's that?"

Peter nodded, muttering a tired 'thanks, and Mr. Stark turned to leave. Before he could go, Peter reached out and grabbed his sleeve. Later, he'd blame his lack of a filter on how cold his room was, and maybe he pain medicine. "Stay?"

The man snorted. "There's no room, Pete."

"Is too. Stay." And, knowing exactly what he was doing, Peter opened his eyes wide, and made them sad and hopeful, tugging gently on the man's sleeve. "Please?"

It took less than five seconds for the man to give in. "Fine." He pulled the blanket back, gently easing into the bed beside Peter and laying on his side. "Better?"

"Mhm." Peter tried to scoot a little closer, and Mr. Stark maneuvered them until his head was resting on the man's shoulder, his nose in Peter's hair.

"How are you feeling, buddy?"

"M'okay."

"Yeah? I'll get you some more pain medicine in the morning."

"Shh…". Morgan whispered from Peter's other side. "Daddy...sleeping." Peter laughed and Tony grinned.

"Sorry, baby." Tony matched her tone, pressing a kiss to the side of Peter's head and, sandwiched between his dad and his sister, Peter dropped back into a sweet, painless sleep.

_**Thank you for reading! **_


	21. Hot Chocolate

**So this was supposed to be day 19 but I forgot to post it here! Sorry!**

Hot chocolate

Peter rolled over on the full-sized bed, burrowing into the pillows that smelled vaguely like smoke. Why did they smell like smoke, he wondered, then let the thought go. It was still dark out, and the alarm hadn't gone off yet. In the bed across from him, Mr. Stark slept silently, and Peter hoped he didn't snore and wake the man before slipping back into sleep.

A cry woke him. Jerking upright, he looked around the room, only to find Mr. Stark still asleep, rolling over, blankets twisted around his legs. Blinking in the dark, Peter started to reach out, then paused when Mr. Stark grunted in his sleep, arms jerking. Deciding to take a risk, he rolled out of bed, padding the three feet over to Mr. Stark.

"Um, Mr. Stark?"

The man made a soft whimpering noise, flinching away from something before rolling back into his back, face twisted in fear. The clock between their beds told Peter it was 3:35am and he ran his hand through his newly buzzed hair. Mr. Stark too had newly short hair, buzzed almost as short as Peter's, and was without his trademark goatee. In the moonlight from the partially open window, he looked like a different man, which, Peter thought, was the point. Still, it had been weird.

All they had to do was wait for Rhodey. Until then, they would be going from mediocre (to Mr. Stark...Peter was fine with them) hotel to mediocre hotel, pretending to be tourists or on a father/son road trip. And had it not been for the constant fear of discovery, Peter would have been having fun! As it was, he was trying to deal with the constant background anxiety while also trying to act like a normal sixteen-year-old. Mr. Stark had seemed to have a better handle on things, keeping Peter grounded while assuring him that things were going to be okay. That he was going to fix this.

And in the meantime, he waited.

In the bed, Mr. Stark made another noise in his sleep and Peter decided he had to intervene. Mr. Stark had woken him from nightmares more than once, even before they'd gone on the run a week or so ago, and Peter felt he owed Mr. Stark that much. Maybe the man wouldn't want to talk about his nightmares, and that would be okay. But Peter didn't want him to have to suffer through them alone. Reaching out, he placed a hand on Mr. Stark's shoulder, leaning in close to whisper.

"Mr. Stark? Wake up." He shook the man's shoulder, gripping it just firmly enough to wake him, then jumped back, but not quickly enough.

Usually, he would have been able to dodge the fist that came flying at his face. In truth, he was just too stunned, and he saw starbursts behind his eyes when the fist made contact with his nose, a soft 'snap' making him jerk his head to the side, his hand flying up to cover his face and instinctively catch the blood. His eyes immediately began to water, and his whole face ached in an all too familiar way. He'd been punched in the face plenty of times, after all. Just never by Mr. Stark. He felt bad as he staggered back a few steps, sitting hard on the bed as his palm filled with blood, eyes blinking too quickly to try and get rid of all the excess water. On the bed across from him, Mr. Stark stared at him in stunned silence, face pale, one hand half-outstretched.

"I...oh god, Peter...I…"

"It's fine," he said, his voice a little nasally. "I promise, it's fine. I'll be right back." Peter stood, keeping a hand over his face, half so his blood wouldn't get on the carpet and half so Mr. Stark wouldn't have to see his nose. It was fine. He'd gotten a lot worse, and Mr. Stark hadn't meant to hurt him. He knew that. And he would reassure him of that as soon as he got his nose taken care of.

Shutting the bathroom door behind him and feeling just as bad about that, he leaned over the sink and placed his fingers on his nose. "Okay...okay Parker..." He whispered, mostly just mouthing the words. The overhead bathroom fan had come on when he'd turned on the light, which he hoped would cover the sound of his muttering and possibly crying when he put his nose back. "Just do it." Glaring at himself in the mirror and using his fingertips, he counted. "On three. One. Two…" He gasped, biting back a cry of pain as he pushed the bone back together. Swearing under his breath. "There. There, it's back," he reassured himself as if talking to someone else. "It's done. Didn't even hurt that bad." Never mind that his eyes poured water and his nose still bled.

Peter grabbed some tissues and tried to stop the blood, managing after a few moments, then tried to clean himself up. His nose was already swelling, and one of his eyes was darkening, letting him know that he'd have a black eye in a few hours. Maybe they could stay in the room another night, just long enough for it to fade away. They were lucky that he had advanced healing. The last thing they needed was something that would draw more attention to them.

Once he'd cleaned his face up and looked mostly presentable, he stepped out of the bathroom, pausing when he saw Mr. Stark sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. Peter knew that look...knew how guilty he must feel over something that hadn't even been his fault. Glancing around the room as if for answers, he stopped when he saw the white paper packets of Swiss Miss hot chocolate. Flipping on the lamp by the dresser, he grabbed the electric tea kettle, carried it into the bathroom, and filled it with water.

As he placed the kettle back on the stand and turned it on, Mr. Stark sat silently behind him, refusing to look up. That was fine. Peter busied himself with finding two styrofoam cups, pulling them out of their plastic sleeves, and then pouring two packets worth of hot chocolate into each. It was bad enough he had to make hot chocolate with water. At least with two packets, they'd sort of get the chocolate flavor.

Once he'd assembled them, he carried the two cups over to the bed, sitting gingerly beside Mr. Stark and holding one of the cups out. "Careful. It's hot."

Mr. Stark stared at the drink for a moment before reaching out and taking it with a shaky hand. For a moment, the two existed in silence. But Peter couldn't let Mr. Stark stew in his guilt...this wasn't his fault.

"It barely hurts. You really ought to take up training with Steve if that's as hard as you can hit. No offense, but that was kind of pathetic, Mr. Stark. I mean, I know you're getting old but…"

The man sat his hot chocolate on the bedside table, then reached out to wrap his arms around Peter, careful of the drink in his hand. Peter put his own arms around the older man, cheek resting on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Pete."

"It's okay. I promise, it really doesn't hurt. It was an accident. I shouldn't have startled you." He hesitated, then went on, taking another chance. "I thought...I wanted to wake you because you were having a...a nightmare and…"

"He was going to take you," he whispered, voice breaking. "I couldn't stop him...he was going to take you. I thought you were…". The man trailed off, shaking his head.

"He's not going to find us." His voice was sure, despite his own doubts. "Colonel Rhodes and Pepper are going to fix it and Ross will leave us alone and we'll be fine." It was the same thing Mr. Stark had said to him on countless occasions, and the man hugged out a little laugh.

"That's right, kiddo."

Peter sat up when Mr. Stark removed one of his arms, keeping the other slung around Peter. The two drank their hot chocolate in as silence that wasn't quite so heavy anymore until Peter decided to lighten the mood just a little more.

"Can we get pancakes for breakfast?"

Mr. Stark snorted. "You think I'm letting you eat sugar with a side of sugar for breakfast when I have to spent the whole day in a car with you?"

"Please? I'm injured." He made his eyes wide and Mr. Stark laughed out loud, shoving his shoulder so gently that Peter barely felt it.

"Go to sleep, Spiderling."

The next morning, Mr. Stark let him sleep until almost eleven, and they had pancakes for brunch.

**Thanks for reading! **


End file.
